A Simple Thing
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Rick's down a hole, he's hurt and alone, and the three people he trusts in this world to save him could be dead.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Simple Thing

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I wrote this for blackdog_lz for her awesomeness. However, it took me way too long to get this beta'ed and posted, so I'm not sure she remembers requesting it! But thanks to geminigrl11 for reading this over and to everyone around me for enduring my insanity over the last few months :) Forgive any silliness in the plot and my Spanish is really, really rusty.

Summary: Rick's down a hole, he's hurt and alone, and the three people he trusts in this world to save him could be dead.

-o-

"It's simple," Michael says, lounging at the table, glass of juice in his hand. "You and Billy will follow up with the asset; Casey and I will handle negotiations with the target. When we reconvene, we should have more than enough intel to pull off a sting."

Rick nods. Michael does make it sound simple; but then, he always does. Rick's not entirely sure how Michael manages to do that, how he manages to take a complicated plan to take down a cartel leader in Guatemala sound like a walk in the park.

And yet, Rick finds himself nodding along, believing him.

Next to him, Billy leans forward with a nod of his own for good measure. Billy's breakfast plate is eaten clean. "I love a nice simple mission every now and then," he says, smiling with satisfaction. "Makes the rest of it all seem worthwhile."

Casey snorts, dabbing his face with his napkin as he pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. "Simplicity is often only a facade," he says. "A guise for those who are too weak minded to see the real intricacies of life."

Michael smirks a little, getting to his feet next to Casey. "I use simple as a relative term," he amends. "I still want you two to watch your back. Remember, we'll have the car so if things get hot unexpectedly, you'll have to improvise."

"I flourish in improvisation," Billy assures him.

Michael rolls his eyes. "We'll meet up in a few hours."

Rick nods, still processing the information.

Casey and Michael head toward the door.

Suddenly, Rick turns, looking at them and saying, "Should we call if something goes wrong?"

At the doorway, Casey and Michael turn in unison. Casey lifts an eyebrow at him and Michael just smiles. "Come on, Martinez," he cajoles, "what could possibly go wrong?"

As he turns back to leave, Rick settles back into his chair, feeling vaguely mollified. Because it does sound simple. He thinks, _ this mission won't be so bad. _

At least, that's what he thinking when a loud explosion rips through the air, shaking the walls of the cafe and sending glass flying.

Rick ducks instinctively, hands covering his head, but when he looks up, Billy's already moving toward the door, face intent.

Getting to his feet, Rick follows suit. Billy pauses abruptly at the doorway, and his face is suddenly ashen.

People in the cafe are screaming, crying. There's someone yelling in Spanish about calling for help. But Billy seems fixated, unmoving, jaw tight and eyes unblinking.

"Billy, what-?" Rick starts to ask, edging his way in.

But then he sees. Sees the people running and coughing, blooding running down their faces. Sees the black smoke billowing into the air. Sees the smoking crater where they'd parked the car that morning, its hull blackened and burned out.

Sees all of it, sees Billy's hand white-knuckled at the door frame. Because in everything Rick sees, there's no sign of Michael or Casey.

Rick's stomach drops. "Billy," he says. "They can't be-"

Billy looks like he might be sick.

Rick looks back out, hoping for a miracle.

Instead, the world rocks again and when the explosion erupts behind them, there's no time to do anything except scream as the floor gives way and he descends into darkness.

-o-

When he wakes up, it takes Rick a minute to realize his eyes are open. As it is, he has to blink several times before his eyes adjust to anything and even then, he can barely make out the looming dark shapes around him in a haze of dust.

Then he remembers to breathe, a conscious inhale that ignites a wave of pain throughout his body. It throbs through his torso, extending out through his limbs, radiating hot and furious in his left leg and peaking in his head. It's so intense that his world darkens again, threatening to give way back into oblivion.

He breathes again, though, and the world comes back into focus. The pain is still there - thrumming vigorously against his consciousness - but as Rick inhales again, he slowly regains control of the rest of his senses.

It takes effort, but as Rick focuses through the pain, he realizes he's on his back. He's not flat, though. There's something sharp poking him, and the surface is uneven. Looking up, there's still darkness, although somewhere there seems to be a flickering light and a crackling fuse.

These are altogether odd sensations, and Rick has to breathe a few more times before he realizes that the ceiling he should be staring at has shifted and there's a gaping hole above him. Only the hole isn't open to anything - it's laden with debris, boards and slabs of concrete.

Such revelations are slow in coming, and figuring out what they mean takes even longer. But as Rick adds it up - the pain, his position on his back, and the unfortunate view of the destroyed ceiling - memory jolts his consciousness and he sucks in a breath in surprise.

The explosion.

He can remember seeing the smoking crater where Michael and Casey's car used to be. He remembers thinking there's no way anyone survived.

Then, he remembers the second explosion.

Blinking, Rick tries to figure out the deeper implications. The second explosion was clearly targeted at the building with the cafe, but this isn't the cafe anymore.

And that's because the cafe must be upstairs.

The disheveled ceiling he's looking at is the floor they ate breakfast on this morning. Which means...

Rick closes his eyes against the flare of pain.

Which means he's fallen through the floor. The blast of the bomb must have so weakened the structure that it collapsed, sinking into the underground level.

Rick opens his eyes again, this time with trepidation. That explains why he hurts so much, and for a second he wonders if it's worse than he thinks. But his entire body is tingling, and he takes a moment to gauge each one of his limbs before trying to lift his head.

It hurts, of course, but after the initial sight-dampening onslaught, the pain abates enough for him to consider his new vantage point. When he manages to keep his head up, he moves his arms experimentally, maneuvering them to push himself up even further.

When Rick gets into a seated position, nausea swells in his stomach and he has to close his eyes for a moment to control the urge to vomit. After a moment, he opens his eyes, swallowing thickly. From this position, he takes a few more breaths and reassesses his situation.

It's still dark, although it's easier for Rick to make out his surroundings now. It's definitely a basement, and Rick can make out a few rows of shelving on the wall closest to him. However, most of the basement is littered with debris - rubble ranging from small concrete pieces to chunks of wood. Just to his left, the debris gets larger, and Rick shudders as he sees the caved in concrete floor from above smashed not far from where he's sitting.

With the obvious damage, there's no clear path to escape. Rick knows there's probably a staircase around here somewhere, but he also knows that the chances that it's still standing and accessible are slim. Given the amount of destruction looming around him, he's actually vaguely amazed he's even still alive at all.

But, as he takes another breath and pain ratchets upward in his body, he is completely certain he is alive.

It's a bittersweet reality because he can still see the car, still see the place where Michael and Casey should have been...

And just like that, Rick remembers the look on Billy's face, the disbelief, the hurt, the denial-

Billy.

Rick turns his head, a little frantic. "Billy?" he asks, his voice echoing in the shadowed room. "Billy!"

His voice settles back in his ears with a lonely finality. For a moment, Rick wants to panic. Because he's down a hole, he's hurt and alone, and the three people he trusts in this world to save him could be dead.

Are probably dead.

Dead.

The sting of tears constricts his throat and he refuses to accept it. He hasn't seen any bodies. He can't be sure, he can't be sure at all.

Struggling, Rick makes his way to his feet, teetering uneasily as his equilibrium shifts. "Billy!" he calls again, a bit desperately now, but he can't accept defeat in this. Won't.

Again, there's only silence.

The haze settles around him, leaving him in eerie stillness.

He thinks about the prayers his mother taught him when he was young, but now that it matters, he can't remember any of the words. Can't remember much of anything. Just that he needs his team now - needs them more than ever - and they're not here.

They may never be here.

Teeth clenched and stomach tight, he takes a lurching step away from the debris he landed on. He looks up, searching for a sign of life, for a sign of possible escape. A sign of anything.

"Billy!" he tries again.

Something shifts and Rick turns, frantic. There's a fresh billow of dirt and dust a few steps away, and Rick can see a dribble of fresh debris still tumbling from the ceiling above.

That's when he takes a moment to wonder just how precarious this structure is. It's entirely possible, he realizes, that he's survived the initial blast and subsequent fall, but could be crushed at any moment if the structure continues to degrade.

So really, his whole issue of impending survivor's guilt may be a moot point.

He shudders visibly and closes his mind to the thought. It's not survivor's guilt because he doesn't know they're dead. They can't be dead. They _ can't be dead. _

But Rick's alone in a hole and he doesn't see a way out and blood is trickling into his eye and they really could be dead.

The truth of it threatens to bring him to his knees. Opening his mouth, he breathes in as hard as he can to steel himself against the growing despair.

The tears sting with the blood and he's about to give in and just cry when he sees something to his right.

It's still hard to see in the dark, but the stark contrast of human skin against the bleak backdrop stands out.

It's Billy, Rick realizes. It's _ Billy. _

-o-

Billy's only a couple of yards away, but it feels like miles. Even when Rick limps across the distance and goes to his knees next to his teammate, he still feels like it's an unbridgeable gap. Because Rick's kneeling there amid the rubble, and Billy's lying still with his eyes closed, half-buried in the debris.

He can still be dead, Rick thinks, staring down at him. He looks dead.

His skin is pale in the dimness, which starkly contrast with the blood stained down his face from a visible gash on his forehead. His face is also smudged with dirt, bruises and abrasions speckling his visage. There's some blood coming from his nose, and his head is turned slightly to face Rick, clearly lolled to the side.

Billy is normally vibrant and exuberant; the stillness, therefore, is unsettling. But for as bad as Billy's face looks, Rick knows that the worst of the damage is probably still below.

Like when Rick first awoke, Billy is in a mess of rubble. His body is laid out haphazardly, mostly on his back, but propped askew by pieces of wood and concrete. Even in the darkness, Rick can see patches of blood on Billy's ripped clothes; more than that, he's so covered with dust that it's almost hard for Rick to remember that Billy's attire was rumpled before they fell. At a glance, it's impossible to tell if any of Billy's bones broken, but there's already a slight rasping hitch to the Scot's breathing that Rick doesn't figure bodes well.

This is worrisome to Rick, but it's not really the main problem in all of this. Because, yes, Billy probably has a concussion. Yes, Billy may have some broken ribs. Yes, Billy may even have internal bleeding Rick hasn't even let himself consider yet.

And it's also true that they're trapped in a basement and that there may be no hope of rescue soon. More than that, there's no guarantee that the structure is safe at all, that the entire thing won't collapse and make their survival thus far a moot point.

The real problem is, though, isn't any of that. The problem is that Billy's lying, unconscious and bleeding, with a huge slab of concrete lying over Billy's entire bottom half, pining the Scot from his waist to his feet.

-o-

For a second, all Rick can do is stare.

He sees the slab. He understands what it is. He even understands the implications.

He just doesn't know what to do about it.

Because the slab is large - clearly a piece of the sub-flooring from the main level - and it's angled slightly over the mismatched pile of debris. As it stretches into the air, the chunk is cracked, splitting slightly as it presses down on the miscellaneous objects below. That's a sign of its inherent weakness, but it's still wide and thick. Worse than that, one end seems to be anchored by a metal beam, which looks suspiciously like a support beam.

This is daunting.

The fact that it's on top of Billy is the critical problem. For a second, Rick thinks again that Billy must be dead. Because he's pinned by a slab of concrete and he's bleeding and he's not moving-

But then, Rick remembers. Bleeding, in this case, is a good thin. A hint of life. A then there's another: a groan, cut off by a whimper.

Rick moves his eyes back to Billy's face and stares, not sure what else to do. As he watches, Billy's face scrunches up slightly, his shoulders tensing as he turns his head a little toward the ceiling.

"Billy?" Rick asks, scooting closer. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand, gently touching his fingers to Billy's face. "Billy?"

Billy's skin is clammy under his touch, and the older operative seems to flinch at the sound of Rick's voice.

Still shaky, Rick steels himself and calls again, "Hey, Billy, come on."

It's a request, which is really always the right tack with Billy. The Scot can be manipulative and defiant when he wants to be, but Rick's been on the team long enough to know that he rarely turns down an honest plea.

Sure enough, Billy's head turns back toward Rick, his eyes fluttering. It takes a moment as Billy blinks through blood, but after a long second, his eyes seem to settle on Rick.

Rick can't help it; he grins.

Billy's brow furrows for a moment and he swallows with obvious effort. He opens his mouth, taking a stuttering breath, before saying, "You look horrible."

His voice is a little garbled, his accent unusually thick, but it's still clear enough. Rick almost chokes on a laugh. "Like you're one to talk."

Billy quirks an eyebrow, almost shrugging one shoulder. "Then no need to state the obvious," he says, and his voice is hoarse and weak but that doesn't seem to slow him down. "I fear that you're so preoccupied with me that you're not really paying much attention to yourself. Besides, I told you how squeamish I am about blood."

"Well, your nausea could also be due to your obvious concussion," Rick points out.

"Eh, who needs Occam's Razor at such a time as this," Billy says.

Rick blinks at him for a second. "You do realize that we just fell through the floor, right?"

Billy's expression hardly flickers, but he's unusually serious despite his conversational prowess. He nods wearily. "Aye," he says. "And it's a less than pleasant memory."

Rick takes it as a good sign that Billy can remember; better still, that he's feeling well enough to talk so much. It's comforting, both because it means Billy's not quite dying - not yet, anyway - and because it gives Rick the anchor he needs to keep himself calm.

It's enough for Rick to keep smiling. "So now that you've told me how I feel," Rick says, "why don't you tell me how you feel?"

Billy eyes him with a look akin to suspicion, but he doesn't seem to follow through with it. Instead, he shrugs again. "Must have taken a wallop to the head," he muses. "There's still two of you to contend with."

This isn't exactly encouraging, but Rick still thinks it's probably the least of their worries for the moment. Which is probably why Billy led with it.

Rick's the new guy, but he's not naive enough to let Billy's attempt at distraction win. "And?" he presses.

"General aches and pains," Billy reports, wincing slightly as he shifts. "Seems like a few broken ribs, if I had to guess, and some nasty bruising."

Rick ghosts his hands over Billy's torso while the Scot talks, feeling the spots as Billy reports them. He nods readily. "Yeah, we'll have to see at the hospital if there's anything more severe going on in there. It's hard to see in this dark," Rick says.

"A little internal bleeding isn't so bad," Billy says, taking an uneven breath and closing his eyes for a moment. "Certainly nothing I haven't had the privilege of enduring before."

Rick's eyes flicker to the slab, at the lower portion of Billy's body that he can't see trapped beneath it.

When he looks back at Billy's face, the Scot's eyes are still closed and his face seems to be relaxing. With a spike of panic, Rick leans forward again, hand to Billy's cheek. "Hey," he calls. "No sleeping on the job."

Billy blinks blearily up at him and even though his eyes are alert and focused, there's still something off in them. "Quite the taskmaster," he says, but his tone is bland, somehow - devoid of life.

Rick forces a smile. "Someone has to make sure you do your work," he says.

Billy manages a small smile back. "Mission's over, lad," he says.

Rick's smile falls. He shakes his head.

Billy nods, more wearily now. "We have no way of hitting our mark now, and we both know it."

Throat tight, Rick tries not to let his fear show. Not because he cares about the mission - he can barely _ remember _it at this point - but because this fatalism is not like Billy. "We still have to get out, contact Langley," he says. "Someone tried to kill us."

Billy laughs bitterly at that, face tensing from the pain of it. "They may have succeeded just yet."

Rick shakes his head again, adamantly now. "You're fine," he says. "You said so yourself."

Billy's laugh tapers off harshly and he looks at Rick, and Rick's never seen the Scot look so haggard, so old. "I'm stuck under a slab of concrete in a basement that could collapse at any time," he reports plainly. "You're walking wounded with no means of extricating yourself from this situation. More than that, Michael and Casey are dead."

There's a finality in the words, a certainty that makes Rick's body go cold.

Billy's eyes don't flicker, don't look away. "So like I said, lad," he reiterates. "The mission's been over since the floor dropped out and even if we haven't hit bottom just yet, we will soon enough."

Rick can't talk, can hardly even breathe.

Billy's eyes drift back to the ceiling and he seems to deflate further. "We will soon enough."

-o-

The room is still dark. There's water dripping somewhere and Billy's breathing hitches in the stillness.

This is the reality, Rick tells himself. This is the reality of his current predicament. The room is dark and the only two people here are Billy and himself and there's no apparent way out. Billy's trapped, Michael and Casey may be dead, and Rick's stomach is in knots as he tries to make sense of what to do next.

Above, it's eerily silent. Somewhere, distantly, Rick thinks he can hear voices - maybe emergency personnel - but they're not close enough to make much difference and then they fade entirely. It's fairly clear to Rick that they're on their own for now.

Part of him wants to give up. It seems like a reasonable thing to do. Because this is looking more and more like a no-win situation, and if Billy's eternal optimism has finally been shattered, then Rick's pretty sure impending doom can't be far behind. He could die here, in this basement. He could die trying to get out, trying to get Billy out. He could die just like Michael and Casey, just like Billy, and no one would know if he gave up or if he kept fighting until the end.

But if giving up is easier, then he knows it's not the strategy to take. Because he remembers lots of impossible missions: being blackmailed by his own team, being interrogated by a Russian cop with a blown cover, laying in the back of a van bleeding to death.

His team saved him. Every time, they saved him. They pulled him out, against the odds, against better judgment - against everything.

Billy sat by his side and told stories; Casey sang songs. Michael ran fifteen miles without stopping.

His team defies the impossible. Redefines the limits. If Michael and Casey are dead, if Billy is trapped, then it's Rick's turn.

It's Rick's turn.

Determined, Rick stiffens his posture. "We don't know that," he says, and his words are defiant, his voice strong.

Billy rolls his head back toward Rick with vague curiosity.

Rick shakes his head. "We don't know they're dead."

Billy blinks, and there's sadness there. Sadness and resignation. "You saw the car," he says.

Rick nods readily, forcing himself to stay steady. "Right," he agrees. "I saw the car. But I didn't see them. I didn't see any bodies. We don't know they're dead."

For a long moment when Billy watches him with apparent uncertainty. Then something flickers and he swallows hard against visible emotion. There are tears glinting in his eyes and this time when he speaks, he sounds more broken than tired. "How can you be sure?"

It's a simple question, but it hits Rick like a punch to the gut. His team has never shown them their weaknesses, they have never appeared less than strong. They've never doubted and never wavered and never turned to Rick for reassurance.

But that's what Billy is doing now. That's what's at the heart of his question, and Rick is suddenly terrified to screw it up.

With a deep breath, Rick remains resolute. "Because I know this team," he says. "I know you don't give up. Not when there's still hope."

Billy's smile is watery now. "I'm afraid I'm not seeing much in the way of hope at the moment," he admits.

Rick nods tightly. "We're still alive," he says. "Someone tried to kill us and we're still here, even when we probably shouldn't be. So maybe Michael and Casey are, too. Maybe Michael and Casey are up there right now, looking for us. We'd be letting them down if we gave up."

It's an appeal entirely based on emotions, carried by a tenacity Rick can't actually back up with any resembling fact.

But somehow, it's enough.

Billy blinks, a lone tear slipping from his eye as he looks back at the ceiling with a breathless chuckle. For a moment, he just breathes before he seems to gather himself and look back at Rick. "Okay," he says.

Rick is surprised. "Okay?"

Billy nods. "Okay," he says. "So if we're going to keep fighting, we're going to need to find a way out of here."

Rick shrugs a little. "Aren't we skipping something?"

Billy lifts an eyebrow.

Rick nods toward Billy's legs. "We can't go anywhere until we get you out first."

Billy follows Rick's eyes, his expression grim. "Well," he says, sighing. "If today's the day to believe in the impossible, then I suppose we should have at it, eh?"

Even if Rick can't let himself show it, suddenly, he's really not so sure.

-o-

Now that Rick's rallied Billy's optimism, he feels too sheepish to acknowledge how precarious his own is. Because pep talks are all well and good, but now Rick's staring at a slab of concrete and has to figure out some way to move it.

Preferably in a way that doesn't hurt Billy further and that doesn't bring the entire building down on top of them.

All in all, it's far easier said than done.

"That's not looking so good, is it?" Billy asks.

When Rick looks back at the Scot, Billy is watching him, not the concrete.

Rick purposefully bucks himself up, making a dismissive face. "No, it's fine," he says, carefully getting to his feet. His body is still sore and aching, but he doesn't let himself acknowledge it. Moving carefully, he steps closer to the concrete. It's just as large as he thinks it is, but he has no way of knowing how much give there is until he tries.

Glancing back at Billy, he tries to smile. "We'll just see how heavy this is," he says.

Billy smiles back, and Rick is inordinately grateful for the effort.

With a deep breath, Rick looks back at the concrete. Bending low, he gauges its angle. With the uneven debris underneath, there may actually be ample pockets, which might afford Rick a better place to grip. More than that, it might mean that Rick won't have to lift very far to give Billy enough room to move.

Nodding his head, he says, "Okay, when I lift, I'm going to need you to move as best you can." He turns his head back to Billy. "Can you do that?"

Billy's face is pale and there's still obvious pain, but Billy nods anyway.

"Okay," Rick says, looking back at the concrete. "Okay," he breathes again, this time to himself.

Kneeling low, he runs his hands experimentally under the concrete as best he can. Inching forward, he's kneeling next to Billy's torso, shifting his hands so they are right above where Billy's abdomen disappears under the load. Bracing himself, Rick grits his teeth. "Okay," he says. "On the count of three."

Beneath him, Billy tenses.

"One," Rick says, shifting his feet to secure himself more. "Two."

Billy sucks in a breath and holds it tautly.

"Three," Rick says, and he's moving before he even finishes the word.

The weight is unexpectedly heavy, and Rick's arms protest, but he pushes harder still. It's hard to find leverage, but low to the ground, he hefts upward, grunting under the obvious strain. His body protests the movement, but he ignores the pull of muscles in his back, ignores everything as the cement shifts slightly.

Beneath him, Billy seems to scramble slightly. He slides backward, and Rick can hear the Scot's hands grappling with the loose debris beneath them both. He moves one inch, then two while Rick's entire body shakes in earnest.

As Billy scoots another inch, something in the rubble shifts and suddenly the weight is unbearable. It loads Rick down, ripping the concrete from his fingers and as it settles back with a crunching thud, Rick yelps in shock and pain.

Panting, it takes him a moment to realize what happened. The shifting of the concrete jarred another piece of debris loose - a support rod, which is still standing but barely, is now partially collapsed onto the concrete slab, pinning it down with new weight.

Rick stares at that for a moment, trying to understand the full implications, when he looks back at Billy.

Billy's face is pinched and even in the darkness, Rick can see the tears streaming down his face.

Eyes wide, Rick scrambles back to Billy's shoulders and head. "Hey," he says. "You okay?"

Billy takes a stuttering breath, clearly trying to pull back his emotions. Trembling, he nods. "Wasn't fast enough," he says, voice heavy even as his words are clipped.

Rick tries to understand.

Billy takes another breath, shuddering. "My legs," he says, and there's more than a hint of despair in his voice.

The pain in Billy's face is an obvious distraction, but when Rick realizes what he's saying. He looks down toward the concrete again, down at where Billy's legs disappear.

It's clear Billy moved some when Rick lifted the concrete - the slab is lower and now Rick can see Billy's hips. But this positive fact is offset by the obvious increase in pressure the slab is now exerting. It's visibly pressing down into Billy's upper thighs and from what Rick can tell, the weight has been flattened down on the rest of Billy's still-trapped legs.

"I think that's enough for now," Billy says, and he's obviously trying to buoy his voice, to keep things light despite, well, _ everything. _

Rick looks back at Billy, who seems to collapse back onto the rubble.

"I think that's enough," Billy says, barely breathing the words now as he stares upward with a hopelessness he can't hide.

And this time, Rick doesn't have the energy or the fortitude to disagree.

-o-

Neither of them say it, but it's pretty clear that Rick's not going to be getting Billy out. Not alone, anyway. Any leverage he had is gone now that the beam has shifted, and given the pinched look of pain on Billy's face, there's not much chance he'd be able to maneuver his way out even if Rick managed to lift the slab.

No, this time, Billy is well and stuck, and Rick's going to need backup if he's going to get Billy out of here in one piece.

Normally, backup would be a given. Normally, Rick would know that Michael and Casey are coming.

Of course, normally, Rick hasn't seen their car get blown to smithereens.

No matter what Rick has told Billy, it's a chilling memory, and it just reinforced the fact that it's up to Rick to get them out of here. Which sounds easy enough, but the more Rick considers their predicament, the less sure he is.

As it is, he's been pacing off the confines of the room, looking for some kind of weakness, some kind of out. They're fairly well confined, but he's pretty sure he can see light coming through a spot in the ceiling, which gives him some kind of hope that it may lead to an opening on the ground level. Which, in theory, means someone could find them.

More than that, it could mean that Rick could get them out.

If Rick had rope or suddenly developed the ability to fly, that is.

"You're thinking too hard," Billy says.

Rick startles, glancing over at the Scot. Billy is obviously where Rick left him, and even across the room, it's not hard to see that he looks worse than before. He's paler, the blood more garish.

Swallowing hard, Rick forces a smile. "With you guys, I'm not sure I ever think hard enough," he admits.

Billy returns the smile. "We just like to make you think that," he says. "Keeps you on your toes."

Rick snorts, looking back at the ceiling, wondering if there's something to catch on up there, even if he finds some kind of rope to try lassoing up. "Are you ever going to stop treating me like the new guy?" he asks.

"Why do you think I was so excited about your arrival?" Billy asks.

Rick looks at him.

Billy shrugs. "I finally got to lose the dubious title and all that it entails."

Rick actually laughs. "Somehow I doubt that."

One eyebrow raised, Billy says, "Clearly you don't know Michael and Casey very well yet, then," he says. "Persistent bastards, they are."

The words linger awkwardly, and Rick hears the amendment Billy doesn't make. Persistent bastards, they were.

It's a sobering thought, but then again, the entire situation is sobering. Rick can't dwell on it - he _ can't. _Because Billy's right when he says the floor fell out of this mission and Rick doesn't want to know what it's like to hit bottom.

So he has to keep Billy's spirits up. He has to keep his own spirits up. Even if he has to lie through his teeth, it's what he has to do. Because if they're still falling, then Rick has to fly, and he'll keep believing that until he can't anymore.

Nodding tightly, Rick looks back up at the ceiling. "I think if I can get up there, I might have a way out."

It's completely off the topic, but Billy doesn't question him. Instead, he squints in the dark. "That sounds like a reasonable plan," he agrees. "Except one small problem."

Rick looks back at Billy.

Billy almost looks apologetic. "How are you going to get up there?"

Rick looks back up, noting the distance once again. He sighs. "I don't know," he admits. "But there's got to be a way."

"Ever the can-do spirit," Billy says in support, and even if his voice is weaker than it should be, Rick still counts it as a win, still draws strength from it all the same. "If anyone can do it, I believe it is you."

Billy says a lot of things he doesn't mean, but Rick's figured out that it doesn't actually matter. Because Billy lies sometimes to make them all feel better, and right now, that's something Rick needs. It means Billy's trying. It means Billy's still fighting.

And as long as Billy fights, Rick has to fight, too.

Looking up, he just wishes he knew how.

-o-

Rick's so focused on the problem that he doesn't see the solution until Billy points it out. Because while they're hard up on rope, they've got ample access to wiring.

"No promises that some of it still isn't active, though," Billy reminds him as something of an afterthought while Rick scouts the options. "So you may want to touch with care."

Rick stares at him. "We just fell through the floor. I think proceeding with care is a given," he says plainly.

At that, Billy grins a little. Even though his face is dirty and bloody, he's still genuinely amused. "Still able to retain your composure under duress," he quips. "I knew I wasn't wrong about you."

Climbing higher on a piece of rubble, Rick eyes some of the cords hanging down with mild trepidation. Still, he glances back at Billy with perturbed look. "You're going to tell me about your lack of confidence now?" he asks jokingly.

"I always had the utmost confidence," Billy assures him. "I knew it from your file alone."

Rick snorts, poking at a wire with one finger to see if it was live. It probably isn't the smartest thing he's ever done, but there are more pressing matters at the moment. "You didn't do a very thorough job, if I remember," he comments. "You called me Mick and thought I was from Mexico."

Billy looks somewhat disappointed. "And after getting to know me better, you still think that's true?"

Rick considers this as he gives an experimental yank. It's hard to tell where the wires are caught and he knows there's a risk of pulling the entire ceiling on top of them, but Rick's not sure he has much choice.

But then he looks at Billy as slow realization comes over him. "You were testing me."

Billy doesn't even look guilt about it. "It's easier to gauge a man's mettle when they feel like they've got something to prove," he says. "More so when they think they have the foothold of knowledge on you."

Rick stares for a minute before laughing in disbelief, looking back at the wires. He tugs on another one, shaking his head. "You guys knew from the start then, huh?"

"That was never your fault, mate," Billy says. "You sold your soul for a job, and I realize we made you feel quite guilty about that, but I can promise you, I've sold mine for less."

The wire shifts, and some slack suddenly appears as a few small stones fall at him. Rick pauses, though, to look at Billy again. "Somehow I doubt that," he says, because it's hard to envision his team allowing for any kind of compromise.

Billy returns the look with a sad smile. "I was young, too, once," he says. "And foolish. Probably wouldn't have amounted to anything except a womanizing drunk if not for Michael and Casey. Those two blokes-" His voice cuts off and his expression turns grim. Swallowing, he seems to be in pain as he continues. "I owe them more than my life."

The words are forced and underlined with pain.

Rick has to look back at the wires as he wills the emotions to stay at bay. Billy hasn't reiterated the doubt, but it's still eating away at him.

It's still eating away at Rick, too.

Which is why Rick has to do this. He can't guarantee that Casey and Michael are alive, but he has to ensure that Billy gets out of this in one piece. He has to.

With a steadying breath, Rick wets his lips. He pulls again on the slackening wire and this time finds success. It tumbles free, and Rick picks it up in triumph.

Clutching it like a lifeline, Rick turns around, holding it up proudly for Billy to see. "You can tell them that yourself, then," he says. "When we get out of here."

Billy's eyes twinkle slightly, despite the obvious pain. "Might not have to," he muses. "After this escapade, I may have a new hero."

Rick just keeps grinning, not sure if he wants that to be true or not.

-o-

With the wire in hand, Rick hatches the rest of his plan pretty quickly.

Although, admittedly, it's not much of a plan. The cord has the length he needs, but it's not exactly easy to wield. Tying off a lasso on one end is much easier said than done, and even when he manages to pull it off, he's doubtful that it'll actually hold his weight.

That also assumes, of course, that he manages to fling the looped end up high enough to find purchase on something solid enough to anchor him at all.

Still, he doesn't have much choice. Looking at the wire lasso, he takes a steadying breath.

On the ground next to him, Billy is watching him. The Scot has been mostly quiet, save a few colorful comments, so when he speaks, Rick's slightly surprised. "Don't second guess," he says.

Rick startles and looks at him. It's still a disconcerting sight. Billy's head is turned toward him, but the rest of his body looks uncomfortably pressed under the rocks. Billy hasn't complained about the pressure on his legs, and Rick's not entirely sure if that's good or bad. He certainly doesn't wish pain on his teammate, but he's beginning to worry if Billy has any feeling left in them at all. And if he doesn't...

Well, that's just more reason for Rick to hurry.

Especially since Billy's strength is clearly waning. Though he's still conscious, his eyelids have begun drooping, and Rick's beginning to understand what Casey meant about Billy's lack of sound being a sign of something bad.

Still, Billy somehow smiles, even though his skin is almost colorless under the blood.

For what it's worth, Rick smiles back. "Sort of hard not to," he admits.

Billy seems unsurprised by the admission. "In most cases, a little doubt is healthy," he says.

"And in this case?" Rick asks.

"You have all the reason to doubt but nothing to gain," Billy says. He shakes his head. "If you second guess, you'll have nothing left to fight with."

It's true, and Rick knows it. All of Rick's hopes hinge on this; all of Billy's hopes hinge on this. It's not just survival, it's everything.

This is both Rick's strength and his fear as he nods his head and gets to his feet. "It'll work, then," he declares.

Billy's grin widens. "There's my boy."

Rick nods again, resolute. It'll work.

Because if it doesn't, then Rick doesn't know what he'll do.

-o-

Rick spends a minute scoping out the best options. It's hard to see with the lack of light and the poor angle, but when Rick scales the pile of rubble on the far side of their space, the vantage point shows him an anchor point. It's mostly debris up top - and most of it looks too light to support his weight. But there's a particularly large chunk of concrete with a ragged edge sticking up. It's grounded by a fallen pillar, and it looks like it could work.

At any rate, it's the best option Rick has.

Really, it's the only option.

With a breath, he looks back at Billy. "Okay," he says. "I'm going to throw this up and see if I can get it to land. Once I get it around something solid, I'm going to climb up and get some help."

Billy's watching him drowsily, but he nods his understanding. "I hope you've perfected your rodeo skills, then."

Rick smirks. "And my rope climbing," he says. "Always was the first person to the top in gym class."

"Then this is a demonstration of physical prowess and intellectual ingenuity that I will watch most eagerly," Billy says.

It's a very Billy kind of thing to say, and Rick needs that boost so much that he doesn't even let himself dwell on how weak Billy's voice sounds. Instead, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, looking up and trying not to loose his courage.

Tense, he directs himself, turning his body toward the cement chunk he's identified. He tests the wire again in his hand, getting a better feel of its weight and judging how hard he'll have to fling it. Tossing the looped end in front of him, he gives himself some slack then works to get some momentum.

After a few seconds, he narrows his gaze and flicks his arms upward.

The wire sails through the air, but lands well short of the mark and hits the ground not far from Billy.

Rick smiles sheepishly.

Billy betrays no emotion. "A warm up toss," he says reassuringly.

Rick takes a rallying breath, pulling the wire back under control. This time, he gains more momentum with the wire before flinging it upward once again.

This time it hits the ripped lip from the floor above them. A few piece of rock skitter with it as it fails to find purchase and falls back to the ground.

Rick glances toward Billy again, making sure the debris haven't hit him, but then quickly pulls his wire lasso back and focuses. "I've almost got it," he says, starting to twirl the loop in earnest once again.

This time, he lets it sail and it's higher than his previous throws. It lands above the cement but with some careful maneuvering, Rick pulls it back. It slips from a fallen board and lands on the cement sticking up below and Rick grins, whooping into the darkness. "I got it!" he says.

Even pale and on the ground, Billy's smile is vibrant. "I never doubted you."

The intensity of the adrenaline throbbing through Rick's veins is almost overwhelming. It takes effort to stay focused, but he keeps his eyes trained on the lasso and gives the wire a tentative pull. The lasso tightens, and Rick watches carefully as it catches. Heart pounding in his ears, Rick pulls again, testing to see if the knot he tied will hold.

The wire goes taut and Rick feels the resistance. More than that, he feels it holding. He tugs one more time and then lets himself look at Billy.

"I think I got it," he says. "This should be quick from now. Once I get out, I'll be back with help."

Billy's eyes are still trained on him, although Rick can't help but notice how glazed they look. Still, Billy nods. "I shall await your return with baited breath," he says.

Rick wants to say something more, wants to offer some further reassurance.

But there's nothing more he can say. He's offered all the hope he has and the only thing that's left is to fulfill his promise and get Billy out of here. Rick doesn't know what's waiting for them when they finally get out of here, but he promises himself that he'll see Billy through that much.

He will, or he'll die here trying.

Finally, he settles for a nod, holding Billy's gaze just a minute more before he moves closer to the place where the wire is dangling. When the wire is nearly vertical, he gives it one more tug. When nothing falls and the wire stays firm, Rick takes a deep breath and pulls himself off the ground.

His arms strain at the sudden weight, and he's reminded of the myriad of aches and pains in his own body. He's been ignoring them so far, but as he's trying to pull his weight up, such a task is harder than ever. Still, he grits his teeth and puts one hand over the other, hoisting himself farther.

His feet are dangling freely now, but Rick doesn't look back. Doesn't second guess. It's like Billy said. There's nothing after this. No other alternatives.

This is his sole determination, and he counts that as a blessing right before there's a loud crack and he's free falling and everything goes dark.

-o-

It's hazy.

Rick can hear his heart in his ears, echoing with a hollow thud-thud-thud that makes the pain in his head ratchet up a notch.

And it's not just his head. It's his chest and his back, his stomach and his legs. Everything hurts, and Rick considers letting the pain take him back into the darkness.

But there's something else. Something he can't quite make out.

A voice.

Someone is calling his name.

Billy, Rick remembers.

"Rick!" comes the call, clearer in his ears now. The voice is weak but the tone is still frantic. "Rick, laddy, I need you to talk to me!"

Billy doesn't panic, but this sounds like panic, and that's enough of a concern for Rick to open his eyes.

And then he remembers.

He's flat on his back, staring upward. Even in the dim light, Rick can still see the hole in the ceiling, but now he can see the new beam laid across it from his failed attempt at escape.

"Come on, son," Billy cajoles. "Look at me."

Blankly, Rick obeys, rolling his head toward the sound of Billy's voice. When he does, it's easy to make eye contact with the Scot, who is also on his back, still half buried under the rubble. It takes effort for Rick to focus, though, and there is fresh pain throbbing through his neck and back, aching in his head.

He looks horrible, all things considered, but the relief on Billy's face is noticeable. "Thank God," he says. "I thought we warned you about the perils of sleeping on the job."

Rick blinks, swallowing hard. He pushes himself up a little, tentative with pain. When he has more control over himself, he sits up completely, clenching his jaw as he tries to shake the cobwebs from his mind. "What happened?" He endures a wave of dizziness, swallowing back nausea.

"Wee bit of an incident with the supports up above," Billy says, and no matter how casual it sounds, Rick notes the seriousness of it.

Squinting, he looks up again. "The beam shifted?"

Billy nods. "As best I can tell," he says. "The entire thing seemed to sway for a bit. I dare say we're lucky not to be pancaked entirely."

This has always been a possibility, of course, and one that Rick's always had in the back of his mind. The structural integrity of their space has always been in question, but Rick had been so focused on the possibility of escape that he hadn't let the notion worry him too much.

At least, until he couldn't help but worry about it.

Because it was Billy who said it - that the floor dropped out and they maybe hadn't hit bottom.

But Rick thinks maybe, this time, they have.

Because it's likely that Michael and Casey are dead. It's likely that any rescue attempts from civilian personnel will be long in coming. It's likely that even when someone does find them, Billy will be dead already. It's likely that Rick will be sitting here with a corpse and the memory of three friends emblazoned in his mind like a car bomb on a Guatemalan street.

The idea of it is almost too much. Throat tight, he blinks rapidly and inches closer to Billy. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Billy lips are still twisted into a faint smile. "Probably been better," he says. "But definitely have been worse."

Rick doesn't know if that's true or not, but he does know that Billy looks worse. Up close, the Scot is haggard. His skin is waxy now, bright eyes dulled from pain or shock, Rick's not sure. His condition is clearly degrading - and quickly - which means there's probably internal injuries Rick hasn't fully accounted for.

Not that he can do anything about it. Not that he can do anything at all. He's at the bottom of this hole with no ability to get himself out, and Billy's trapped under a slab of concrete that Rick can't move.

Rick can't move. Rick can't get out.

Rick _ can't. _

He can't bring Michael and Casey back. He can't buoy Billy's spirits. He can't save Billy's life. He can't even save his own.

He just can't.

It's a harsh realization, almost more than he can bear. For a second, he wants to rage. He wants to hit something and throw things. He wants to fight the universe just to let it know how pissed off he is, how unfair this is. Because his teammates don't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this. They're better than this. This isn't how it ends.

It _ isn't. _

Except it is.

Michael and Casey are dead. Billy's dying. And Rick might as well not be far behind.

"Rick?" Billy asks, his voice tentative.

Rick sucks in a breath and tries to compose himself. But he meets Billy's eyes and just can't. Because he can see the brokenness in them. He can see the hope that Billy claims to not believe in but won't let go of. He can see the reality of all of this, the reality Rick's been fighting since the beginning.

And for the first time, Rick doesn't fight it. Can't fight it. The despair washes over him and even if the first sob is choked, the second that follows is too much to hold in. His body shakes with it, and he flinches when he feels Billy's hand on his arm.

The next sob is harder still, and when Billy's fingers tighten weakly around his forearm, Rick can't hold it back any longer as he sobs into the dark, stillness all around.

-o-

Rick doesn't know how much time has passed.

Really, it doesn't matter.

When he finally pulls himself together, the situation is no different. They're still trapped and without hope.

And yet, somehow Billy still smiles at him. "It's going to be okay, you know," he says. "Do head injuries always make you so emotional, lad?"

Rick can't help it; he scoffs.

"Like you said, there's still hope," Billy continues.

Rick stares at him. "Michael and Casey are probably dead," he says, and Billy flinches slightly at the words. "You're trapped under a slab of concrete. I have no way of getting out."

Billy steadies himself, even if his face looks pinched. "Aye," he says. "These things may be true. But there is hope nonetheless."

Rick shakes his head. "How?"

"This happened in a very public place," Billy tells him. "Rescue efforts are undoubtedly underway."

"But-"

"But nothing," Billy says. "They'll find you. They'll get you out."

"But you-"

"It's not important," Billy says, with a shake of his head.

Rick starts to protest.

Billy's look stops him. "Just humor me," he says. "Just for now."

It almost hurts, but Rick says nothing.

"You're the one in the team that can survive this," Billy continues. "And not just this-" Billy nods to the room around them. "But the CIA. You're good. You know how to work the system and still defy it. They'll always trust you more than they trust us and you can use that for good. You can use that to fulfill our mission."

This time, Rick can't quite keep silent. "You're wrong," he says.

Billy looks sad. "No, son," he says, and his voice is weaker now, his eyes heavier. Every breath seems to be an effort, one Billy almost can't afford. "I'm afraid I've been right since the beginning. Your efforts have been noble - truly - but I have no qualms with this ending. Promise me you'll get out of here alive, and I'll have a perfect record of no qualms at all."

Rick's throat is too tight for words, and there's nothing he can say. Nothing he can do except hold Billy's gaze, hold it steady and firm, even as the Scot's eyes drift shut and he slips into unconsciousness.

Still, Rick stares, his entire body trembling. He wants to break down again, but he doesn't know how. Doesn't know anything.

This is it, he thinks, with a cold, cruel certainty. This is the end of what he knows, the end of what he trusts. Two bombs took it all away, and Rick's the only one left standing in the aftermath. The only one left standing at all.

Billy wants him to think about starting over, but really, Rick's still figuring out how to handle this ending before he can do anything at all.

But it is over, he knows, and he closes his eyes against the dark. This time, it's finally over.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

The minute Michael steps outside, he knows something is wrong.

He's not entirely sure what it is, but he has a sense about these things. He always has; it's why he's so good at what he does, why he's still alive after pulling some of the missions that he's pulled.

There's just something _ off. _ The street is busy. There's business people going to work; youths going to school. It's the same as it has been for the entire week that they've been holed up here. And yet, something's just not quite _ right. _ He can't put a finger on it, but just outside the door he stops and stares.

Casey stops next to him, sighing a little. "After a week, now you decide to take in the scenery?" he asks.

Michael just frowns, scanning the scene again. He notes the woman pushing a stroller across the street, but she's talking on her phone and ignoring the child. He sees the businessman loitering outside the deli across the way, looking like he's waiting, but the sign clearly says closed.

A bus chugs down the street; a dog barks.

Nothing concrete, but thousands of little things scream at him.

He _ knows _ it.

Of course, as Fay would remind him, his paranoia is wrong more than it is right, but still. He's alive. His team's alive. Sure, he's got a failed marriage behind him but really, something had to give in the name of national security and international espionage.

So he can't ignore it.

He shakes his head. "Let's take a walk," he says.

Casey lifts an eyebrow. "And ignore the fact that we have a perfectly acceptable car at our disposal?"

"Especially that," Michael says, as he starts walking again. Because when something is off, then it's the easy things he can't take for granted.

Still uncertain but confident in his doubts, Michael takes off. He doesn't have to look back to know that Casey is following, or even that his teammate is rolling his eyes while he falls into step.

Michael keeps his eyes roaming. The policeman strolling down the street. The woman juggling a cup of coffee and her phone. The obvious tourist looking at a bus map.

Michael sees everything, but he almost doesn't see the spark from the car. As it is, he doesn't have time to react when the spark ignites into a blast and he's already flying through the air when he finally hears the boom and then nothing at all.

-o-

Michael breathes smoke and hears the sound of sirens. There are people crying; someone is yelling.

Michael blinks once, then twice, before he realizes that his eyes are already open. He sucks in a breath and pain flares in his chest, enough to bring him to full awareness.

Launching himself up, he inhales and exhales rapidly as the details come back to him. They're in Guatemala, on a mission. He and Casey were supposed to meet with the asset. There had been something off.

The car-

Michael turns, his body throbbing in protest, but he forgets the pain when he sees the burned hulk of what's left of their car.

Which is to say, not much. If they had gotten in, this would be a story with an entirely different ending, one Michael wouldn't be around to witness, at the very least.

As it is, his body aches, and he quickly realizes why. Though he escaped the worst of the blast, he'd still been close enough to ride its shock wave. It had hurled him through the air - nearly ten feet, as best Michael can gauge - all the way into the street beyond. There are other bodies sprawled - some moving, some not - and the crowd is scattering as it tries to make sense of things.

Then Michael remembers another salient point. He wasn't alone.

Turning his head, he looks, just shy of frantic. Then, a few feet beyond him, he sees Casey on his back, not moving in the street.

Ignoring the protests of his body and a steady throb in his arm, Michael scrambles across the distance, landing heavily on his knees.

"Casey," he says, breathes it really. The smoke is still thick and cloying in his lungs.

Casey blinks at him. There's blood streaking down his face and there are patches of it down his arm as well. "The car exploded," he says plainly.

Michael wants to laugh, but manages to simply nod. "I figured that," he says.

Casey blinks again, almost curious. "That's a less than pleasant experience," he says.

Michael nods. "Are you okay? Can you-?"

He doesn't get to finish when Casey levers himself up, his face set into a scowl. "I can," he says shortly. "And now I'd like to know who the hell tried to kill us."

Part of Michael wonders if he should make Casey sit still, get assessed first, but he knows Casey won't listen. More than that, Michael's pretty sure if he pushes the point, Casey will push right back, and neither of them can afford to be sidelined after what seems to be a clear assassination attempt.

He's still ruling that option out, however, when Casey gets to his feet.

Michael has no choice but to follow, and he feels compelled to make it seem like it's been his idea all along. "We'll have to regroup," he says, fingering a cut on his head absently. His hands comes away bloody and he makes a face. "Hook back up with Billy and Rick-"

He stops speaking when he sees Casey's face.

Casey's good at sardonic expressions, and Michael's learned to read the degrees of exasperation and sarcasm for the nuances they represent.

But this-

This is different.

Casey's face is blank. Devoid of anything.

Michael frowns, he's about to ask what's wrong, if Casey needs a medic after all, when he turns his head to follow Casey's line of sight.

Beyond the smoke still billowing out of the car, things are a little hard to see. There are more police on the scene, and ambulances, too. Even fire trucks, but they're not spraying water at the burned out car.

They're spraying it at the diner.

Rather, what's left of it. Because flames lick the structure, which is bad enough. What's worse is the caved in floors, pancaking downward, leaving the ground level obliterated.

Michael thinks, there's no way anyone survived.

And for the first time since he joined the CIA, Michael not sure what to do.

-o-

Michael's not sure how long he stands there.

He just knows that he can't move. Doesn't know how to move. He feels like his feet are planted in the ground, frozen there indefinitely while his mind scrambles to come up with some kind of alternative.

Except there isn't really an alternative. Michael and Casey were nearly killed by a car bomb and Rick and Billy were inside a now-flattened cafe. This isn't random, Michael knows. Even if he were inclined to believe in coincidence for one, the dual blasts signify something more sinister. Something like murder.

No, not _ like _ murder. Actual murder. Because there are people dead on the street and there are people dead in the cafe and Michael's still making sense of that when Casey speaks.

"We've been compromised," he says, and the statement is so simple that Michael wonders for a moment if he's imagining it. Still, Casey shakes his head, eyes still trained on the smoking building. "How the hell were we compromised?"

Michael swallows hard and his throat hurts from the smoke. "We can worry about that later," he says.

At this, Casey looks at him. "You mean after they succeed in killing us?"

"After we get Billy and Rick," Michael says. The words come out easily, like they're expected, but in the acrid smell of smoke and blood, they sound wrong, even to Michael.

Casey stares a moment longer before scoffing. "We've seen explosions like this before," he says. "They're dead."

The cold simplicity of the words make Michael want to shudder. Still, he shakes his head. "They're not," he says.

"The place is flattened," Casey says, and there's a strange pitch of emotion in his voice, something cracking just slightly. "They have to be dead."

"They're _ not, _" Michael says again, insisting this time.

"But-"

"But nothing," Michael says, turning to look at Casey sternly.

The other operative is pale, his face whitewashed with what Michael knows isn't just blood loss or shock. It's the emotion reality, something Casey has never been skilled at handling. He can face any amount of peril, undergo any physical trial, but Casey almost always falls apart when someone he cares about is in jeopardy, when someone he cares about is-

In this, the cold, stark statements are a desperate attempt to verify a truth he's terrified of. His only means of combating the fear that threatens to overwhelm him is to put it out there plainly. After all, Casey can be scared of losing two friends who are already dead in his mind.

Michael understands this. He understands, but can't abide by it.

He meets Casey's eyes and forces the other operative to hold his gaze. "They're not dead," he says.

Something in Casey's expression flickers. There's doubt and there's fear.

Michael is resolute. "We've pinned our hopes on less."

This is true, but Michael knows it's not by much. As a team, they've defied death often, but rarely have the odds looked so badly against. Which is why it's more important than ever that Casey believes him now.

Casey doesn't look away, but the doubt is evident in his eyes.

"Not much less," Michael amends. "But still."

Part of Casey clearly doesn't want to agree, that much is obvious. But the rest of Casey wants to disagree less. Casey prides himself on his realism, but he's hopelessly in need of optimism more than the rest of them, especially when their backs are up against the wall.

Or when their teammates are buried in a pile of smoking rubble.

Still, Casey finally bows his head, sighing as he nods his assent.

When he looks up, his face is set again, and the fresh determination is what Michael needs to see. Casey takes a step forward.

Michael puts a hand out to stop him, suddenly concerned. "Where are you going?"

Casey pauses, tilting his head. "Well, if they're not dead, then I don't intend on leaving them there."

With that, Casey doesn't wait for an okay, but he doesn't have to. Because Michael's there, step by step as they head back toward the rubble.

-o-

By the time they get there, it's clear that no one is really quite in charge. There are emergency personnel on the scene, but the orders are chaotic and in Spanish, and there seems to be groups of firemen not quite working in tandem as hoses are levied toward the blaze.

Still, it doesn't take Michael long to realize that with the smoke and flames, the best that can be said of the efforts is that there is a poorly secured perimeter. No one is going inside.

At least, no one seems inclined to try just yet. But then, no one has a vested interest like Michael and Casey.

Yet, while Casey seems intent on going into the building - flames, smoke, and questionable stability aside - Michael understands that he can't let that happen just yet. Not that he doesn't want to save his teammates - who are alive, who _ have _ to be alive - but because he can't sacrifice the only one left that he knows for sure will still walk out of this in one piece.

Besides, Michael has to admit, the entire scene doesn't look good.

The building is burning in spots, but it's hard to tell how widespread the flames may be. Smoke is still billowing freely out the shattered remains of the diner's windows, and Michael guesses that the firemen are hoping to control the blaze from the exterior before venturing inward. After all, fire on an already questionable structure isn't something to mess around with.

The fire is problematic, of course, but it's not Michael's primary concern. People can survive in pockets of air; there could be other ways in and out that aren't blocked by smoke or flame.

The real problem is, of course, that the building is supposed to be five stories high.

Now, it looks about three and a half in the back. Maybe three in the front.

Up close, it's clear to see that the brunt of the damage was incurred on the first floor. In fact, there is no first floor. The entire thing is gone, collapsed in, and the rest of the building seems to be teetering on that new, unstable foundation.

This is hard to make sense of but easy to understand. The blast was clearly set on the first floor, probably blowing out all four walls when it went off. Given that the building is bowed toward the street, the bomb was probably placed toward the front, maybe right outside the building.

It's the implications, though. The implications Michael doesn't know how to deal with. Doesn't want to deal with.

Casey, for his part, seems to refuse that such implications exist. Once Casey is committed to an idea, he refuses to hold back, and now that Michael's talked him into believing that Rick and Billy might have survived, he's not going to stop at anything until he finds them. Risk to himself be damned.

And Michael would be afraid to try stopping him anyway, because for one, Casey could probably incapacitate him if he tried. And two, he's not sure how he'll hold himself together if he admits anything less.

So when Casey charges across the tentative lines of firemen and rescue personnel, Michael's not even a step behind. They don't need to talk about their approach; they both know how the other will respond and act together accordingly.

More than that, it's not like it takes a lot of thought. Go in, find Billy and Rick, get out.

End of story.

At least, that's the end Michael wants.

No one stops them. This isn't unexpected to Michael. The scene is still chaotic, and, more than that, Michael has learned that while deception is a powerful tool, often the most effective approach is just looking like you know what you're doing. Few people think to ask questions, especially in crisis.

But as they cross the threshold, Casey nearly charges over a fireman coming out. Casey is so intent that he tries to duck around but the man holds his hands out, stopping him.

Casey growls, and Michael senses the fight that's about to happen. Not that Michael doesn't understand, but he'd rather not get arrested right now, especially since that would seriously impede their own rescue efforts.

Instead, Michael steps forward, between the two, saying, "Lo siento, lo siento."

He hopes it'll be enough to placate the man, but he still shakes his head, lifting his mask to look at them.

Michael is surprised to see he's earnest; his face is smudged with smoke and he's breathing heavily. "No pueden entrar," he says, his Spanish hard to understand through the smoke-garbled inflection.

"Si, tenemos autoridad," Michael tries to explain, lying easily even in a foreign tongue. Rick's the linguist, but Michael knows enough to pass.

The man shakes his head. "No, no," he says. "No hay posibilidad. Todos estan muertos."

For a second, Michael hopes the meaning is lost in translation, but Casey goes stiff next to him.

The man continues, still shaking his head, obvious sadness in his features. "Todos," he reiterates again. "Tratamos de salvarlos, pero no podemos. Dios mio, estan muertos."

With that, the fireman crosses his chest with the sign of the cross before ducking back toward the crowded perimeter and turning his back on them. It's not much, but it's the opening they need.

Michael can't move at first; Casey stares at him for a long, hard moment before he grits his teeth and charges inside.

-o-

It's not a hard choice to follow Casey inside, but the minute he enters the space, Michael realizes why they were advised to stay away.

Everything is a mess. Smoke is heavy, clouding the space, but even through the haze, Michael can see that the rubble is more extensive than even the exterior showed. There are blocks of broken cement; felled beams crisscross the space and live wires continue to spark. There is a strange amalgamation of furniture - a cafe chair and an office desk, both twisted and bent amidst the scene.

Moving is hard with the smoke, harder still with the uneven flooring. It's hard to tell what's the first floor and what's the second, and Michael has to sidestep a body as he trails after Casey.

Casey pushes onward, and Michael stays close. He has his arm over his mouth, breathing into it carefully, and his lungs protest even as the heat seems to singe his skin through his clothes. He knows what Casey is looking for, but he's not sure how Casey hopes to find it, because there's nothing left to find.

The fireman was right; Casey was right: no one survived.

They're all dead.

If they weren't killed by the force of the blast, Billy and Casey were crushed by the falling building. If the rubble wasn't on top of them, the smoke would have done them in. Michael's stomach turns at the thought that they could be walking over their bodies right now, trying to get them out.

It's too much.

Because Billy and Rick are dead - they're _ dead _ - and Michael's walking on their remains while letting Casey die in the pursuit of a hopeless cause.

And it is hopeless. Michael can see that now. Through the smoke, through the rubble, it's the only thing that's clear.

And he can't let them all die. He can't let the entire thing end up as ash.

He can't.

Michael's a leader. Leaders make hard decisions. Leaders make impossible decisions.

It's with this that Michael puts his hand on Casey's shoulder, turning him until their face to face.

Casey glare at him, his own arm still pressed over his face. "We have to find an opening in the rubble," he says, voice raised over the din of the fires still burning. "If we can find a spot to look lower, then we might have a chance."

Michael shakes his head. "Casey, we can't."

"It might take some work, but-"

"No," Michael says, dropping his arm and looking at his last teammate plainly. "We _ can't. _"

Casey blinks, half disbelieving. "But-"

"They're already gone," Michael says bluntly, because that's how Casey would want it. That's how Casey will understand it.

But Casey doesn't understand. His arm drops and his face twists up. "No," he says. "You said-"

"I was wrong," Michael says flatly. "I was wrong."

Casey's face contorts. There's rage and there's desperation. There's pain and there's disbelief. He reaches up and grabs Michael by his shirt and shakes him, sneering. "You don't get to say that," he says. "You don't get to say that now."

Michael doesn't try to defend himself; doesn't want to. He just holds himself still and doesn't let his gaze waver. "They're dead," he says. And he doesn't apologize. Doesn't say anything else. Just the truth they both know. "They're dead."

And Casey looks like he wants to fight it. Looks like he might punch Michael and keep on going. The expression intensifies briefly and then folds just as fast. Casey's shoulders sag and his grip loosens.

Casey knows it. Michael just has to wait for him to accept it, too.

And Michael will stand there to let him, as long as it takes.

As long as it takes.

The fires burn. The rubble stays where it is. And when Casey's hand falls away, his head drops, Michael takes that as his cue to lead his remaining teammate out of the building and into the safety of the street beyond.

-o-

Outside, neither of them talk. This time, it's Michael who leads, pushing them through the growing perimeter of rescue personnel. Someone asks him a question, but Michael ignores them. He hears the sounds of more sirens approaching, and a hose is turned on, blasted toward the smoldering blazes with fresh vigor.

Michael keeps walking, Casey a half step behind him. They walk by the bleeding victims lined up on the sidewalks, the bodies covered with jackets and blankets and anything people can find.

He keeps walking down the street, away from the melee. Walks and walks until he reaches a quieter street, where the people have all gone - either home or to work or to the scene. Here, Michael turns sharply down an alley and pauses at the first car he sees.

Glancing back down the alleyway, Michael confirms that they're alone. A quick sweep of the alley confirms that there's no surveillance, though Michael suspects he might not care even if there were cameras in place. He's always been one to commit to a mission, regardless of the risks.

And at this point, Michael's not sure he cares about his own personal safety. This mission is now the most important thing.

It doesn't take much to finagle the lock on the car, and as he climbs inside the driver's seat, Casey slides into the passenger side. When they're seated, Michael bends over to give the car a hotwired start, when Casey says, "I assume you have a plan."

His voice is dead.

Michael knows how he feels. Without looking up, he tenses his jaw and works for the wires under the wheel. "Someone compromised us," he says, equally flat. "We need to figure out who."

"And you think our asset may have some information," Casey concludes.

Michael finds the wires, starts sorting through them for the ones he needs. "He's our best lead," he confirms, and he doesn't have to say that right now he's their only lead.

"And we think this matters because?" Casey asks, and there's a bite to his voice, a hint of despair that's just barely being restrained.

Michael looks up sharply, feeling the cut of Casey's words. He meets the other operative's eyes. "Because someone killed Rick and Billy," he says, the words so harsh that he almost flinches himself. "And I'm going to find out who."

Casey's countenance falters just for a minute before he draws himself together bitterly. "And I hope, then, that there are no limitations of force on this new mission," he says.

Michael laughs humorlessly. "When we find the son of a bitch," he says. "You'll have to fight me to take the first shot."

With that, Michael looks back down, presses the wires together. The engine sputters to life. He looks back at Casey.

Casey's look is set and ready. "You can have the first shot," he concedes. "But I'm taking the last one."

Michael's mouth turns into a bitter smile. "That sounds like a plan," he says, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the alley.

-o-

Michael knows they've missed their schedule meet, so he doesn't bother with the predetermined site. Besides, he half suspects that this is one meeting their asset may have skipped anyway, since Michael's location had been so conveniently compromised at the same time.

That might have seemed problematic, but only if Michael is still putting the asset's safety as his primary concern. Since that is no longer the case, Michael has no compunction waltzing in to the man's place of business, threat of his exposure or their own be absolutely damned.

It's not like much worse can happen to them. And if the asset knows at least some of the information Michael suspects he does, then the risk of exposure is actually the least of their assets worries, too.

He and Casey don't have to talk about their approach, here. There's really not much nuance to it. Michael parks the stolen car outside and doesn't much care about who sees it. He and Casey walk in the shop through the front door, and they make no secret of their approach as they go straight up to the counter.

There's a woman buying fruit, and there's an old man perusing the grocery shelves. Michael ignores their stares as he approaches the register and says, "We need to talk."

Their mark - Carlos - is behind the counter. He seems to be making change when he looks up, eyes widening, first in surprise, then in fear. "No, no-" he starts to say, just barely without panicking.

Casey steps forward and stares him down relentlessly. "Yes," he says. "Otherwise we can explain to your paying customers why exactly it is you're so surprised to see is."

Carlos goes slightly pale, and he swallows, nodding readily. Hurriedly, he hands the woman her money. "Not here," he says, moving around the counter as he ushers the woman outside. He calls to the man, having him leave despite his protests, and he locks the front door behind him, flipping the sign in front to _ cerrado. _

Michael watches him ceaselessly, looking for signs of guilt, for signs of running. The first is a given, but the second seems less likely. Although, Michael gets the impression that Carlos is simply too aware of what the consequences of that move would be.

As it is, Carlos is almost shaking by the time he gets Michael and Casey back into his office. He gives his store a once over, nervously shutting the door behind him. When he turns to face Michael and Casey, his face is deathly pale and he's already sweating.

Michael about to ask a question, but he doesn't have to. Carlos is looking at him, eyes pleading, and says, "I didn't know."

"You didn't know?" Michael asks, letting his skepticism darken his voice.

"You didn't know that we were still alive or you didn't know that we were going to be blown to hell this morning?" Casey clarifies starkly.

Carlos shakes his head again. "The men, they come in this morning out of nowhere, but this time they have someone else with them. Someone from the government."

Michael's eyes narrow. "Who?"

Carlos shrugs helplessly. "I don't know," he says. "But he wore a good suit, a nice suit. He was local, but spoke American, yes? Very clean, talked about the embassy."

Michael glances at Casey, who frowns back at him. "A mole?"

Looking back to Carlos, he presses the point. "What did they say?"

"They were not happy," Carlos explains. "They talked about how the CIA was onto them, and wanted to know how such a thing occurred." His eyes are huge, desperate. "I was almost ready to run, right there."

"So why didn't you?" Michael asks.

Carlos' face flickers, a new wave of guilt sweeping over him. His eye line skitters away. "They said it was taken care of," he says. "They said they rigged the car, the basement. Said it would all be over within a matter of minutes."

There's a lot to process there. From the obvious compromise at the US Embassy to the fact that the hit had been formulate so quickly and executed so effectively-

To the fact that the bomb was planted in the basement.

It's Casey who speaks next. "They put it in the basement?"

Carlos blinks. This clearly isn't the point he expected any follow up on. Confused, he nods hesitantly. "Yes, but-"

But Michael's not listening, and Casey's not either. They look at each other, and it's clear what the other is thinking.

"The bomb was in the basement," Michael says, matter of fact.

"Indeed," Casey says.

Carlos is visibly trembling now. "I tried to call," he says. "But it was too late, there was no answer."

The man is clearly fumbling to apologize, to explain, but what Carlos doesn't get is that Michael doesn't care. This isn't Carlos' fault, and even though there are still details that Michael probably should know, he remembers the new mission.

The one about Rick and Billy.

Michael moves to the door. "Don't go anywhere," he orders Carlos. "And keep your cover. We may need you later."

Carlos is clearly confused. "But-"

"But nothing," Casey says. "Just do as we say and we may be willing to continue working on an immunity deal out of Guatemala."

"But-" Carlos starts to say.

But Michael doesn't listen. He just opens the door and heads back out, the fresh determination burning like a fire in his gut.

-o-

Back inside the stolen car, Michael's hands are tight on the wheel. His knuckles are white as he drives back toward the scene. This time, he's speeding; it doesn't seem likely that a cop will stop him for a traffic violation when half the police force is probably containing the situation at the cafe.

More than that, Michael's pretty sure that he wouldn't let a traffic cop stop him at this time.

Next to him, Casey sits stiffly, one hand gripping the door as Michael takes the turns precariously. He says, "It's still not likely they survived."

Michael doesn't even look at him as he navigates another street, this time bypassing a turning car and narrowly missing a pedestrian. "The bomb was in the basement," he says.

"And the first floor was still demolished," Casey points out.

"And we never considered that someone could have fallen through to the basement," Michael tells him, refusing to be swayed as he lays on the horn and runs through a red light.

"Even if someone happened to be positioned in the right spot to fall through a hole in the floor," Casey continues, "the odds of a clean fall are slim. More than that, we don't know what kind of debris field fell or if there are fires down there as well."

These are things Michael knows. But he knows something else that's more important.

He stops the car abruptly on the side of the road, turning to look at Casey squarely. "But they could be alive," Michael says, says it because it's the only thing that matters now. "And if there's a chance - any chance - we can't just walk away."

Casey's expression is vaguely stricken, but he's holding it together well. "It will take hours for rescue personnel to reach the basement."

Michael inclines his head. "Which is why we're not waiting for rescue personnel."

"Just as long as you know it's a long shot," Casey says.

"Just so long as you know that it doesn't matter," Michael returns.

The plaintive look on Casey's face shifts, and Michael sees the lingering denials for what they are. Casey's speaking the truth, of course, but the truth is just a facade for Casey. A convenient way to avoid hope - even a hope he wants and he needs.

And ultimately, a hope he can't deny.

Even if he tries not to show it.

For just a second, Casey's composure wavers, but once he's accepted that Michael's accepted this new reality, he acquiesces to it as well. "Just so long as we're on the same page."

Michael can't stop from grinning. "We better be."

Casey nods toward the road, gesturing impatiently. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Michael doesn't need to be told again as he puts the car back in gear and heads back to the scene.

-o-

They ditch the car closer to the scene, leaving it unlocked and abandoned, fingerprints and DNA evidence be damned. They can worry about the details later, when they rescue Billy and Rick. And if they fail on that front, then a little evidence is really the least of their concerns.

On foot, it's all Michael can do to keep from running. As it is, Casey maintains a ferocious speed-walking clip, and it's only because everyone is still rubbernecking the tragedy that they slip through the throng unnoticed.

The perimeter is more secured now. Smoke is still billowing, but it's clear that the fires are under control by now. It's hard to tell what progress has been made beyond that, though. The wounded are being treated on the street, and there seem to be a few more bodies lined up, covered now with sheets.

Easing their way in, Michael finds the first firefighter he can and asks in his best Spanish, "How's it going?"

The man is so distracted with the obvious task at hand that he doesn't really give Michael a second look. "Estamos buscando pero es dificil. El edificio - esta peligroso."

It's vague but still enough for Michael to deduce a few things. First, they haven't had much luck in finding people. Chances are, they've found mostly bodies. Second, the search isn't yielding much because they're not letting a full contingent of people in.

Glancing around, Michael soon identifies several engineers, pointing out structural issues to firemen as the operation unfolds. The fireman next to him is called away, and he leaves without a goodbye.

In his absence, Casey moves closer. "They're not among the dead," he says.

Michael glances back toward the row of bodies, refusing to let the idea of so many people dying on their account bother him - at least, not yet. "How can you be sure?"

"There are only a handful that match either body build," Casey reports. "And of those, I checked their shoes. Definitely no matches there either, unless you think Billy has taken to wearing penny loafers without our notice."

Most people might doubt such an assertion based on rough guesstimates and shoe comparisons, but Michael knows better to question Casey on this kind of thing. If Casey's sure, then Casey's sure, and somehow Michael knows he has to be right. Because he's already decided: Billy and Rick are alive. They will find their teammates and they will bring them out. And then, in a few days or weeks or months or however long it takes, they'll all go home together.

This is the only option that is acceptable. The only one worth considering, at any rate.

There is certainty in this, and he and Casey have a solidarity that matters, that helps. But as Michael turns back to the scene, he really can't help but doubt. Because the building looks like a burned out shell, and Michael is certain that the vast majority of people in there died horrible and painful deaths. Crushed or burned alive or both, and Michael doesn't wish that on anyone.

Doesn't want to think about it for his team.

This is a mass casualty event, and in some way, Michael knows how audacious it is for him to think that Billy and Rick are still alive. How selfish and egotistical it is to think that they would survive and the others - the corpses lined up on the street, the bodies still trapped inside - didn't.

But Michael needs this. He _ needs _ this.

"You ready?" Michael asks, looking at Casey.

Casey doesn't look back. There's a sickly hue on his face, but he nods, face set and determined. "Unequivocally," he replies.

Casey voice is strong, even among the chaos. Michael knows there's a lot more to it all than that, but nothing else that matters.

And that's enough to push down his own panic and lead Casey back into the scene.

-o-

With the perimeter better established, Michael has to be more careful about how they get back inside. They stand out in their street clothes, which are a stark contrast to the full emergency rescue gear of the firemen. That makes it difficult, but certainly not impossible, and if Michael knows anything, it's that the impossible is pretty much standard for the ODS.

Looking like he knows what he's doing is only going to go so far this time; proper timing and location are much more important.

Carefully, he guides Casey swiftly around the exterior of the perimeter. It's easy to hide behind the crowds, ducking between people as Michael looks for his opening.

It becomes clear to Michael that the majority of the rescue efforts are going on from the back door. This make sense, of course, because if the bomb had been toward the front of the building, the majority of the damage is focused upfront. This means that the most secure part of the building is in the back. It's the most logical place to start securing the interior and assessing the situation from within. It's also the most likely place to find any survivors.

This logic is nearly foolproof, which is why Michael leads Casey all the way around and back toward the front. The front door is still an option, but it's being watched carefully despite the fact that there's not much accessibility through there. Michael needs another alternative-

The broken side windows. They're entirely blown out and the jagged edges certainly don't make them an attractive entrance, which is pretty much the point. Everyone is watching for the efforts from front and back, and so the windows are mostly unattended and unnoticed.

Michael doesn't stop to confer with Casey. Instead, he slips forwards wordlessly, trusting Casey to follow him as they spirit through the crowd. Hopping over the broken glass is less simple, but Michael doesn't pay attention as it catches on his pants as he hurries inside.

On the darkened inside, Michael finally remembers to breathe, not that it does him much good. The fires are controlled now, but the smoke still lingers thickly. The clearance is low, and Michael has to duck his head slightly in order to avoid wreckage crisscrossed above his head. For a second, he questions how stable it is, but as he takes another step forward over debris, he figures it's really too late to turn back.

Casey is stepping next to him, squinting through the fogginess. "We should be looking closer toward the point of origin," he says. "Which, my guess, is to the front."

"That's where the majority of the cave in occurred," Michael agrees.

"Which means that's where any holes in the flooring may be," Casey adds.

It makes a lot of sense, but that doesn't make it much easier. The place is a mess inside, and Michael looks away more than once from the site of blood or bodies amid the rubble. It's another harsh reminder of the odds in what they're doing, but Michael's too good at what he does to base all his decisions on odds.

Besides, odds are for wagers, and Michael's not a man who gambles. He's a man who knows and who plans and who works to get what he wants. He's relentless and he's paranoid and he doesn't fail because he doesn't let himself fail.

This is Michael's mantra now, all that there is to keep him going. It's what puts one foot in front of the other, even when the floor gives way and rocks skitter dangerously below him.

He's slipping, but Casey's hand grabs him immediately. As he lets himself be steadied and pulled back to solid ground, he looks where his foot had been and sees the makings of a hole.

It's mostly obscured, which is why Michael didn't see it in the smoke and darkness. There's more than a little debris across the opening, but Michael can see for a fact that there is an opening now - a deep yawning void of black that indicates an open space below.

For a moment, all Michael can do is stare.

"Well," Casey says. "Looks like we found it."

Michael stares at it a moment longer. It's what they've been looking for. Their one chance in a million that it's a portal to salvation - for him and Casey, Billy and Rick. For the ODS at large.

That's what Michael reminds himself of, not the other 99.9 million chances that it's a gateway to hell.

-o-

Finding the hole is one thing; trying to navigate around it to see down is another issue entirely.

The problem is compounded by a variety of factors. The cave in of the upper floors is very problematic. The uneasy creaks and groans leave Michael with some trepidation, but the area is flat out impassable in most directions. There debris is piled thickly - and worse, precariously. It's virtually impossible to see down below in the darkness, harder still to gauge if the basement is filled with an equal amount of debris or if there are pockets of open area. This makes their work difficult, but the more difficult it is, the harder Michael feels compelled to work to overcome it.

Besides, in the back of his mind, he keeps thinking that this could be it. Once they find their opening, they could find Rick and Billy. They could give this case a happy ending after all.

But they still have to find their opening.

Casey ducks low and circles around toward the left, watching his footing carefully as he circumvents the weak spots in the floor. Michael goes right, where the clearance is slightly higher but the debris field is heavier. It's a silent choice they both make, and even as Michael moves out of visual range, he knows he can trust Casey in this.

And not because Casey's the human weapon. Because he's a member of the ODS. And they watch out for their own. No matter what.

This isn't written into their mission statement, but it doesn't have to be. It's the glue that keeps them together. It's the part of their partnership that keeps them strong, even when they're going against order and off grid. It's what makes them strong.

It's what could make them weak.

Because Michael's heart is racing, his pulse so loud that he can hardly hear. Michael has lost men in the field before; he's had to leave them behind once or twice. It happens, and Michael knows that.

Knows that because he still carries it with him. Know that because he still hasn't gotten over it. He still remembers the last time he saw Simms before the explosion leveled the compound and they had to assume him dead. He still remembers walking away and finding out years later he was wrong.

He still remembers.

Just like he can remember Billy's jokes at breakfast. The way he can remember Rick's skepticism before they left.

That can't be the last thing Michael remembers of them. It _ can't. _

Because Michael can plan every contingency except one: how to accept his own failures.

And yet, all Michael has now is a hole in the ground and an impossible belief, and he's holding himself together with nothing but dogged rejection of probable facts, and it could be too much.

It might really be too much.

His eyes burn as he pulls through the debris. His body hurts as he kicks stones and lifts slabs of drywall. His throat is tight as he loops around and sees the opening.

It's not big - no more than five feet by five feet. There are a few slabs of broken concrete, covered with a beam. The positioning is precarious, but the opening is still there.

Inching closer, Michael doesn't even dare breathe as he looks down, squinting through the murkiness for any sign of life.

Down below, it's hard to make out the pale gray of cement. It's piled in heaps, but it hasn't filled the space. Michael edges around further, trying to get some better vantage point. The lighting is nonexistent, but as he moves around, there's a pale patch of sunlight beaming through the haze and filtering into the space below.

It's not much, but it's enough.

Enough to see the beams leveled precariously below. Enough to see the debris, heavy enough to hurt and maim. Enough to see the open void where possibility has to lurk.

Enough to see a flicker of movement - a white shirt in the darkness - before the pale flesh of a face looks up and meets his eyes.

It's hard to make out the details of the face, but the eyes that shine brightly to meet his own are clearer than anything else. They're darkened with pain and fear, desperation and loss, but all Michael can see is hope.

-o-

Hope is a fragile thing.

Michael has always known this, but he's never known it like he does right now. Because Rick's sitting at the bottom of the basement looking up and Michael's standing on a floor that could give way at any moment. He supposes it's some kind of luck that the firemen are on the other side of the wreckage or he'd probably have to worry about getting arrest, but for now, the reality is he's more concerned with not collapsing the floor and smashing his teammates to really fret too much about much else.

"Are you okay?" Michael calls, when he finally remembers how to speak.

Even at a distance, Michael can see Rick flinch, as if he's surprised to hear Michael's voice.

"Rick?" Michael tries again.

This time, Rick blinks, shaking himself slightly. "You're - alive," he says, and even if it's hard to hear him with the distance between, the meaning is still crystal clear.

Michael almost wants to cry, the relief is that strong as the adrenaline continues to surge through his system. Instead, he smiles, shaking his head. "It's not the first assassination attempt I've survived," he reports, and it's funny, but it's also true. "How's Billy?"

Rick's face pales further, and it's clear that the question hits a very raw nerve. "He's-" Rick starts, but his voice cuts off, caught in his throat. He looks down, just for a moment, and that's when Michael sees his last teammate. "-not good."

With Rick, the pale skin on his face and the whites of his frightened eyes had been a giveaway.

But Billy's face is obscured by blood and his eyes are closed, which is partly why Michael hasn't seen him until now.

The other part of that, however, is that only half of Billy is visible. The rest of him is lost under a slab of concrete.

Rick looks back at him, and the hope in his eyes is stronger now. So much so that Michael can't let himself show - not even a little - just how badly his own is rattled.

-o-

It doesn't take long to get organized. His team is skilled at improvisation, at making something happen out of nothing. So it's no surprise that Michael doesn't have to call for Casey; the other operative merely shows up, and after a quick glance down at their fallen teammates, he's already working wordlessly with Michael to come up with their rescue strategy.

When Michael speaks, he keeps his voice low. Martinez looks on edge, and Michael doesn't want to risk setting the younger operative off, especially since things are more dire than any of them will admit to. "We need a way down," he says, looking at Casey.

Casey is testing the ground, clearly already thinking the same thing. "I don't suppose you packed rope this morning," he says grimly.

Michael's smile is rueful. "It was in the trunk of the car."

Casey laughs bitterly. "I'd jump down-"

"And we'd have no way of getting any of you back up," Michael says. He glances down. Rick is still watching them, still standing almost in disbelief; Billy hasn't moved. "And there's not exactly a lot of space. You'd probably land on Billy."

Casey steps over another incline in the rubble, better gauging his position. "I'm not sure we have enough layers to make a rope," he mutters.

"There's no time," Michael says. He's still trying to keep his voice down, but it's not enough.

From below, Martinez calls out. "I can throw you a wire!"

Michael and Casey both stop, and Michael looks down the hole again with a frown. "It could still be active."

"It's not," Rick says, and then he holds it up for them to see. "We already tried it, but I couldn't secure it up top. With one of you providing counterweight, though-"

Casey looks at Michael.

Michael looks at Rick. "Then it might just work," he concludes.

-o-

Getting the wire seems to be harder than it should be, although Michael knows that the three attempts are mostly because Rick is hurting and he's tired, so it's hard to hold it against the kid. But Michael's not so much as inclined to blame Martinez as he is the universe at large, for putting up one obstacle after another on this official mission from hell.

Or to hell; Michael supposes the jury's still out on that one.

Still, once the wire is in his hands, Michael is all business. First, he gauges its strength. It's not designed for lifting - that much is obvious - but it should do the trick. It'd have to do the trick - there isn't much alternative. Yet, though it provides a means up and down, Michael can see already why it failed to support Rick on the trip up. It doesn't bend well; more than that, there's nothing solid that's close enough to tie off.

"One of us will have to stay up top," Michael says, looking to Casey. "It's the only way to ensure we don't all get trapped."

"We're going to need some serious leverage to get that concrete of Billy," Casey reminds him.

Michael glances back down grimly for a second. "I can lift; Rick can pull," he says.

Casey lifts an eyebrow. "And I sit here and look pretty?"

"We need a strong arm on the counterweight," Michael says, and it's the truth as much as it is a bald-faced lie.

The look on Casey's face shows that he knows as much. "I have extensive rappelling skills," he says. "And my core strength-"

"Is why you're up top," Michael interrupts to conclude, more sharply this time. He holds Casey's eyes in the haze and wills him to understand.

Because Casey is the natural choice to go down. He's got the experience and the fortitude and that's just the kind of thing Casey would do on a normal mission.

But this isn't a normal mission. This is Billy and Rick stuck down a hole with an entire building still threatening to come down on all of them. Michael can't sit and watch as his entire team is in peril; he has to act. This is his job, and so he needs to do this.

It's not easy for Casey to accept, though, and for a moment, Michael worries that Casey will challenge him on this. Michael isn't sure he likes his odds in a fistfight, and he knows he can't afford for either of them to be more hurt than they already are, so Casey has to understand.

More than that, Casey has to accept it. For the team; for Michael.

A tense moment passes. Michael doesn't waver, Casey doesn't blink.

Finally, Casey's posture slackens and he pulls on the wire hard, jarring it from Michael's hands. "Fine," he says, jaw tight. "But you're going to need to push up from your feet if you're going to have any hope in hell of getting that thing off him."

It's gruff and demeaning, but it's still total acquiescence, so Michael knows to count it as a blessing. Gratefully, he smiles. "Thanks for the advice," he says.

Casey just glowers as he wraps the wire around a slab and twists the end around his hand. "You better get going," he says as the building shimmies uncertainly. "Before it's too late."

Moving into position, Michael knows that that much is definitely true.

-o-

The descent takes too long. It's funny to Michael, as he shimmies down the wire that Casey is holding securely, that he has to inch his way down, one hand under the next, when he knows that Rick and Billy made this fall far faster.

When he finally hits the ground, it's hard to say who is more relieved, Rick or himself.

It's darker down here, and the whites of Rick's eyes are still like a beacon to Michael, even if now they're face to face. The kid looks worse up close. He's bleeding from a gash in his head, and from the rabbit-eyed expression, Michael is pretty sure they're looking at a concussion in the very least.

It's also clear now that they're on the same level that Rick is listing heavily to one side. There's a patch of darkness that glistens in the haze, and Rick's hands are bloody.

"Thank God," Rick breathes, and for a second, Michael thinks he'll fall over. He doesn't, but it seems to be a near thing as the kid smiles a bit drunkenly. "I was beginning to think the worst."

Rick doesn't elaborate, but Michael's pretty sure he doesn't have to. He could be referring to dying in the basement alone, but if Michael knows anything about his team, it's that they worry more about each other than themselves. Hours alone in the aftermath of an explosion would, therefore, be more about worry that the only reason the others haven't checked in is because they can't.

Michael knows this because it's how he spent his morning. It's also why he understands the nearly overwhelming relief in Martinez's bruised features. Not just at rescue - although Michael's pretty sure that's a damn relieving thing - but at knowing that they're still a team - the four of them, a family.

"I know the feeling," Michael quips back as honestly as he can. "So are you ready to get out of here?"

Rick actually laughs at that. "More than you know," he says.

Somehow, Michael doubts that.

-o-

Getting down is one thing; getting out is another.

Because while Martinez looks beaten to hell, Michael is pretty sure that he could climb. Even if he couldn't, Michael trusts Casey's strength to pull the kid out. Michael knows that he has enough adrenaline left in his system to pull himself out, but really, none of that is the problem.

The problem is Billy.

When Michael goes to his knees next to the Scot, Rick joins him, fidgeting uneasily. "He's been out for nearly a half hour," he reports. "I can't tell exactly what's wrong-"

Michael's already doing his own assessment. Fingering the gash on Billy's head reveals it to be deep but there's no sign of bone, which is a point in Billy's favor. Running his hands down Billy's torso, a few ribs move far more than they should, which explains the strained pull of Billy's breathing. But since there's no severe rasping just yet, Michael thinks they've probably avoid any puncture of the lungs, which is a relief, to say the least.

It takes some work to finagle Billy's shirt up, and the dark bruising that is spread across the planes of his stomach are worrisome. But the flesh is still mostly tender, though hardening slightly in the upper right quadrant. This is indicative of some kind of internal bleed, but it's small and isolated for the time being, which means they have a little time before it becomes a far more serious problem.

None of this is good news necessarily, but it's also not quite dire - at least not yet. But Michael's still not contending with the real problem at hand - the massive slab of concrete over Billy's legs.

Up close, it looks even more daunting. It's thicker than Michael might have thought, and when he looks at it, it's pressed down firmly on Billy's upper thighs. The pinched off appearance is troublesome - it looks like it could be completely impeding the circulation to anything below that point. Michael does the mental math. If Billy's been stuck with this concrete on his legs the entire time, then they may already be too late to save his legs.

Of course, if they don't get Billy out, they may not be able to save Billy's life, so really, it's a moot point.

"I tried to move it," Rick explains. "We got him out a couple of inches, but then the entire thing shifted again. Even if I could move it again, Billy didn't have the strength to pull himself out."

This makes sense, unfortunate as it is. Extrication of this kind is really more of a team effort, and the fact that Rick and Billy tried at all is a testament to their tenacity. Still, it's going to be interesting to try it with the two of them, and Michael's suddenly wondering if he made the wrong decision to come down instead of Casey.

"S'not his fault," a thick voice says suddenly.

Surprised, Michael looks up. Billy is looking at him, eyes half-lidded. Although his gaze is focused, it's duller than it should be.

"Rick here's been quite the hero in the making," Billy continues, words slurring noticeably but Michael still has to smile at how clear the sentiment is.

Next to him, Rick's nerves have picked up again. He leans forward, a jerky hand on Billy's shoulder. "We'll get you out now," he promises.

It's a brazen promise, one Michael wouldn't hesitate to give, even if he's not sure how the hell he's going to fulfill it.

Which really shouldn't be a surprise. Half of Michael's job as leader of the ODS is to pull proverbial rabbits out of proverbial hats. Billy calls it paranoia; Fay cited it as grounds for divorce; Michael likes to think it's careful forethought.

Really, though, it's part luck, part ingenuity, and now isn't the time for him to question his methods. Now is the time to trust in his track record and hope like hell he can pull one more out for his team.

Billy smiles, somewhat dreamily. "No need to leap buildings in a single bound when you can just move them, yeah?" he asks, accent thick and hard to discern.

Michael leans in this time, meeting Billy's gaze again. "Are you calling me a superhero?"

Billy's smile quirks his lips further. "Suppose that makes me your Lois Lane," he says. "Young Rick can be Jimmy."

"And Casey?" Michael asks.

"I fancy him a Batman," Billy says. "Can't fly, but doesn't need to."

"That's the wrong comic book," Rick admonishes gently.

Billy manages to shrug one shoulder. "I'll rethink it then," he says.

Michael pats Billy's arm. "Things will be clearer once we get this off you," he says.

Rick nods readily, and it's clear to Michael that Rick believes in Michael's blatantly strained promises more than Billy does.

Still, Billy keeps his smile, taking a few deep breaths. "Then, let's get on with it, shall we?" he asks.

Michael squeezes his arm one more time. "I thought you'd never ask."

-o-

Like most things with this mission, the next part is easier said than done.

Michael eyes the concrete, looking for the best spot to leverage it upward. He knows he needs to keep it centralized in order to make a sufficient gap to pull Billy out, and it seems like the only option is to pick the area where Billy's legs make a small opening.

Of course, this means he has to maneuver himself over top of Billy, which makes him somewhat nervous, but he also knows that the risks of hurting Billy can't outweigh the obvious need to extricate him from the site.

Once in position, Michael looks back at Rick. "You'll need to pull him out - quickly," he says. Then he looks apologetically at Billy. "This may hurt."

Billy blinks lazily. "You say that like it's something new," he says.

Rick looks a bit pale at that.

Billy glances at him with a smile. "Reminds me I've still got some fight left, though," he says reassuringly. "So no holding back, laddie."

Rick nods convulsively before looking back at Michael. "Okay," he says.

Michael nods back then looks back at the slab. "Okay," he says to himself, and bends over and starts to lift.

-o-

It's a literal weight in Michael's hands, one so heavy that it actually terrifies him. But it's the same weight he's been carrying all along. He holds his team in his hands. Their lives, their well being: his concern, his primary purpose.

Most of the time, he takes it for granted. It seems like second nature. But other times, when lives are actually on the line, Michael has to strain so hard that he wonders if he can still do it, if he can hold out long enough to save them, to save everything.

His fingers ache, his body protests. The strain is almost unbearable, but Michael refuses to give in. He can't. He won't.

His attention dims to that single point, that single refusal, and he holds and holds and holds until he hears Rick say, "I've got him!"

Then Michael lets go, lets it all drop, and when he collapses back against the rubble of this mission, he just hopes it's enough.

-o-

Reality comes back sharply into focus, and Michael grounds himself in the here and now. Because this isn't just some abstract idea of what his job is like; this is a concrete mission, and Casey's standing at the top of the hole with a wire, waiting to pull them all out.

Michael's done a lot, but he's not done yet.

Catching his breath, Michael regains his footing and turns back toward Rick and Billy. They're farther away now, about five feet, and Rick's half cradling Billy as he tries to gain some semblance of composure.

Hurried, Michael comes over, gently helping move Billy from off of Rick and laying him as best he can on the floor. "See?" he says. "No problem at all."

Billy halfway smiles, his eyelids fluttering. "My superhero, indeed," he says, voice no more than a breath before the last of the color drains from his face and his body goes entirely limp.

Rick fidgets. "Adrenaline crash?" he asks.

Michael knows it's possible, but something isn't right. Something doesn't feel right. And enough has gone wrong on this mission to take such a doubt seriously.

He looks down toward Billy's legs. They're in one piece, which is something, but Michael knows that might not mean much of the circulation has been too severely impaired. The sudden renewed burst of blood might have robbed Billy of his consciousness, and Michael sort of wants to make sure.

He moves down, intent on taking the pulse in Billy's foot, when he sees the blood.

It's already staining the full length of Billy's pant leg, stemming from a jagged rip in the material that extends from his ankle to his knee. Upon closer inspection, it's clear that the tear is more than superficial, and Michael can see muscle and bone through the copious bleeding.

It's something he hasn't considered; that saving Billy's life might threaten it. Because the gash is deadly, no doubt, and the only thing keeping Billy from bleeding out was the heavy pressure provided by the slab of concrete.

Without it, Billy's bleeding like a stuck pig, and Michael's entire rescue plan suddenly hinges on time once again.

Rick moves closer and nearly stops breathing, a soft epithet whispered into the air.

"What is it?" Casey calls from above. "Shouldn't we be moving?"

They should be moving, that much is true, but not for the first time today, Michael has to wonder if going forward is really where he wants to go.

But mostly, he knows he has no choice.

-o-

Ultimately, Michael acts quickly. That's just what he does; that's why he's the de facto leader of the ODS. This is why his career at the agency has flourished. Because he responds to pressure. He uses it and makes the tough choices.

Even when he's scared.

Especially when he's scared.

It's a tossup for him to decide if he should bandage Billy's leg here or not. He settles for a fast job, ordering Rick to tie a tourniquet with Michael's shirt as best he can while Michael readies Billy for transport.

This much, however, is not exactly easy. The Scot is deeply unconscious now, and his limbs flop as Michael tries to hoist him up to snake the wire around his torso. His fingers are shaking as he ties the knot - almost trembling too hard to test it - but when he's satisfied it will hold, he looks up to Casey with a nod. "Okay, I think we're good," he calls.

Good is something of an exaggeration, but it gets the point across. Casey's not down there to gauge the full extent of Billy's injuries, but there's no question that he understands the severity given the pinched expression on his face.

Still, he disappears from view, and Billy's body lurches off the floor.

At first, it's just Billy's head and shoulders, the wire tied off under his armpits. Then there's another strong jerk and Billy's airborne, long limbs dangling loosely behind him as his head falls back with his face upturned toward the salvation of the ground above.

All Michael can do is watch, Rick close to his side. They watch each agonizing inch, and Michael is tense, ready to move in case the wire gives way.

It doesn't, although it swings precariously as Casey hefts. Billy shows no signs of waking, and as he reaches the top, blood is already dripping despite Rick's makeshift tourniquet.

Then Billy disappears, body scraping over the debris, sending loose rocks and dirt down on them. Michael barely flinches, just lifts one hand to cover his eyes so he can watch as Billy's body clears the edge of the hold and waits for some news from Casey.

It only takes a second, but it's still a long second. Then the wire comes back down, and Casey's face appears, pale and serious above them. "Make it quick," he says. "At the rate Billy's bleeding, we don't have much time."

Michael knows better than to doubt him - even a little. Instead, he slaps Rick on the shoulder. "You ready?" he asks.

It's such a casual question, but it carries more weight now. When Rick looks at him, there's hesitation.

Hesitation Michael understands. He's had his share of doubts and setbacks on this mission, but ultimately, this is what he's good at. This is all he has.

Forcing a smile, Michael nods. "You just need to climb out," he says. "Then we're home free."

There will be a lot more than that, but that's the point worth remembering. Because Michael's counted his team as lost more than once today, and so he's not about to start betting the odds right now.

"It's simple," Michael promises. "You'll see."

And Michael isn't sure why, but Rick believes him. This is perhaps the hardest thing to make sense of sometimes - not that he has to plan for the impossible or circumvent the unlikely on every mission, but that his team always follows him. Almost without complaint. Almost without question.

He hasn't let them down yet.

He hopes today isn't the start of that.

As it is, Rick nods and, without a word, turns to the wire. He braces himself, face taut as he grabs on and starts to pull himself up, one hand over the other. It seems slow, but Rick is steady and Casey pulls slightly with each passing second. Together, they work until Rick is safely at the top and the wire comes back down again.

This time, Casey disappears from view. Rick holds the wire and watches Michael expectantly.

It's his turn, of course. His turn.

Michael has to look around, one last time. He looks at this hole, looks at this mess. They've come close today - too close - and Michael knows it's not over yet. More than that, he knows it may never be over. Not until it's over the hard way.

But that's not today, and Michael trusts that.

In the end, it really is simple. His team is alive, and that's what matters.

That's what matters.

So Michael takes the wire and hoists himself up, out of the hole and toward the safety above. He doesn't know what's coming next - he may never know - but he has to trust himself and his team enough to face it all the same.

-o-

EPILOGUE

Michael says it's simple. In some ways, he's right.

But it's also complicated. Because someone still tried to kill them, and the fact is that they're still not out of the woods just yet. In fact, they're not even out of the building, and while Rick helps get Michael out of the basement, Casey's doing everything he can to keep Billy from bleeding out.

And really, the fact that he's out hasn't actually sunk in yet. The cafe looks much the same up top - dust and rubble - but once Michael is next to him, it still seems like there's a long way to go. Because there's sunlight from somewhere, but all Rick can see is the exhaustion in Michael's eyes, the panic in Casey's action, and the blood all over Billy.

It's hope, but it's not much hope, and even as Casey hoists Billy into his arms and Michael ushers him toward the exit, Rick's still not sure what to make of it all.

The first step outside is just like the rest, but the sunlight almost blinds him. He keeps moving his feet as Michael prods him along, but the rise of new voices and the sudden onslaught on his senses is too much.

It's too much. Because Michael and Casey are dead but they're alive, and Rick thinks he could have died in that basement along with Billy but now they're on the street. It's so simple, too simple, and Rick doesn't know how anymore. Doesn't know how to think, how to be, how to make sense of any of it.

So when his knees give out, he doesn't stop it, and even in the glaring sunlight, darkness descends.

-o-

Rick doesn't really want to wake up.

In all, waking up seems a little overrated. Last time he woke up, he was in a basement with a building on top of him. Last time he woke up, Billy was trapped and Michael and Casey were dead. He has no way of knowing if that was reality or a dream, just like he has no way of knowing what other unpleasant surprise await for him now.

Fortunately, there's not much he can do about it. This seems pretty much par for the course in Rick's time at the CIA. He's making decisions that have already been made for him, and any pretense of control he has is just allowed to him to make him feel viable. None of it is probably real; none of it probably matters.

So Rick lets himself drift.

One second, he's dreaming of his mother's cooking; the next there's a doctor asking him how he feels. Then he slips away and dreams of training on the Farm, waking again to the sound of Michael's voice.

"You're okay, Rick," he says. "We're all okay."

Rick's not sure he believes him, but he's also not sure he can deny him, so instead of trying to figure it out, Rick drifts away again.

-o-

This time, there's no choice. His body is awake before his mind has a chance to stop it, and he's staring at a wall when he realizes that he's not alone.

Casey is seated in a chair next to him, looking decidedly worse for wear. His face is bandaged and bruised, and his expression is more dour than usual.

"About time," he grumbles, even though Rick can hear the relief.

It still makes Rick frown, which makes his face ache and feel tight.

"You've got some impressive stitches in your forehead," Casey explains. "And a moderate concussion. Excessive facial movements are probably not recommended."

Rick considers this as he shifts himself upward. He doesn't make it far before he's assailed by nausea and has to lie back down.

"Concussions also bring on nausea," Casey reminds him plaintively. "You may want to be still."

Rick can't disagree on that one as he swallows hard. Still, he makes an effort to open his eyes again, looking at Casey with a bit more caution this time.

"We're alive?" he asks, croaking it really, because his throat is dry and his lips are parched.

Casey almost looks sympathetic but somehow still scowls, even as he offers Rick a drink.

It's an awkward thing, but Rick's more thirsty than his pride is strong, and he takes a few eager drinks, before meeting Casey's eyes again. "We're okay?"

Casey settles back into his chair with a sigh, and Rick realizes that some time has passed. Casey looks exhausted, with circles under his eyes and stubble on his face. "Okay is a relative term," he says. "Compared to nearly being blown up, then I'd say yes, we're okay."

Rick continues to sift through the memories. "And Billy?" he asks, because the memory of blood is strong. He can still feel it dried on his hands, caked around his fingernails.

Casey's expression falters, just for a second. "He's stable," is his reply.

Rick suspects it's not a lie, but he also knows it's not entirely the truth. "What's wrong with him? And how are you and Michael?"

Casey sighs wearily. "We can deal with that later," he says. "You still need your rest. Just trust me when I say it's going to be okay. Even if it is a long road ahead - for all of us."

Rick wants to ask more, but suddenly he's sleepy. Too sleepy to protest. And as he fades back into unconsciousness, he thinks the road may be long, but this time he's pretty certain it'll end up in the right spot.

-o-

When he's awake again, Michael is there. Michael looks worse than Casey - not as badly injured perhaps, but the exhaustion is more evident. Still, he's watching Rick expectantly and when Rick's eyes finally focus, he smiles.

"You're up," Michael says. "Finally."

It's instinct to frown, and it still hurts, but not quite as badly this time. Still, Rick remembers well enough not to sit up. "How long?" he asks.

Michael tilts his head slightly to the left. "It's been nearly three days," he says.

This doesn't quite compute. Rick knows he's been in and out, but it doesn't seem like it should be that long.

"You had surgery," Michael informs him promptly, nodding toward Rick's torso. "You had bits of rock mangled in your side. Nothing too serious, but they found a few bleeders in your stomach. They think you'll be fine, though."

Michael says it pretty easily, as though internal injuries are really just part of the job, and Rick supposes that may be true.

Besides, he's not sure his own well being is what he's most concerned about. "And you guys?"

Michael seems to be expecting this question, even if he doesn't seem as eager to answer it. "Casey and I are fine," he says. "A few knocks and bruises, but nothing we couldn't sign out AMA for."

This is a funny truth to Rick, mostly because he spent the better part of a morning thinking Michael and Casey were dead. He's started to mourn them, started to accept their loss, and now they're here. Alive and mostly well, and Rick's still trying to figure out how that's possible.

Michael has a way of knowing what he's thinking even before he's finished the thought, so it's no surprise when he continues, "We knew something was off in the street. We never got in the car."

Rick blinks at him. "What about Billy?"

Michael's face tightens, but he nods. "He's still out," he reports, "but it's a medically induced coma. The reconstructive work to his leg was pretty extensive, and with the bleeding in his abdomen, they just want to be sure. He's fighting an infection, but Billy's not the type to give up."

Rick knows this to be true, so he tries not to think about Billy losing hope in the basement. Doesn't tell Michael that Billy believed they would all die.

Instead, Rick bucks himself up, nodding at Michael stolidly. "So we were targeted?" he asks.

Michael sighs in earnest this time, but he nods in wary agreement. "There was a mole in the US Embassy," he says. "We contacted Higgins; he's sent another team down to handle the problem."

There's a lot to that statement to consider, the first of which is that Michael gave up the fight so readily. It's not like them to hand a case over to someone else, especially via Higgins.

Michael is watching him. "What is it?" he asks.

Rick shakes his head. "It's just..," he tries to find the words. "We gave up the mission."

Rick doesn't say it to be cruel, but the words still seem to make Michael flinch. He sits forward, eyes intent now. "No," he says. "After the explosion, after I saw what was left of the cafe - that was when I almost gave up the mission. I thought you and Billy were dead. I was going with Casey to avenge your death. That was when I gave up."

Rick frowns.

"This," Michael continues, nodding to the space between them, "this is the mission that matters. This team. We're still alive - I'm not sure how - but we're still alive. That's the mission that comes first. No matter what. I almost blew that once already; I'm not about to blow it again."

This is the most honesty Michael has ever shown him, the most emotion Rick's ever been faced with on the job.

And yet, it's something maybe Rick's always known. Or something he always should have known, because it's the most obvious thing yet.

Finally, Rick nods. "You didn't blow it," he says, and he takes a breath. "We're still here."

Michael hesitates before smiling just slightly. "We are," he agrees. "And let's try to keep it that way."

Rick grins tiredly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

-o-

Now that he's awake, Rick realizes the full extent of his injuries. His body hurts more than he thinks it should, and when the nurse changes the bandage on his side, his stomach turns at the sight. And yet, even as he's aware of what he's been through, he's more committed than ever to get better and see all of them through to the end.

Which is why he's more than a little relieved when Michael sneaks him a wheelchair the next day.

Their escape from Rick's hospital room is nothing short of a full-on covert operation. There are diversion tactics and extreme stealth involved, and the rush of adrenaline of being shuttled secretly through the corridors of the hospital almost makes him forget his final destination.

But when he ends up in Billy's ICU room, he remembers pretty quickly.

It's sobering, of course. Billy's eyes are closed and his head is heavily bandaged. There's a tube snaking from his mouth, taped down around his lips, and wires run from under his hospital gown to the myriad of equipment at his side.

There's a bulky bandage around his leg, and Rick tries to assure himself that the scene is still better than seeing the Scot trapped under cement in the basement.

Still, it's hard to believe.

"His legs are okay?" Rick asks into the quiet.

Michael nods slightly. He's standing next to Rick's wheelchair, one hand on the handle as he looks at Billy. "Initial prognosis is good," he says. "There may be some nerve damage, but it seems minimal. Circulation came back pretty quickly."

"Lucky bastard," Casey agrees. He's flanking Rick's other side, gaze just as steady. "They're worried more about the infection than they are any lingering issues in his mobility."

"He'll still need some physical therapy," Michael explains. "But Billy's always good at that kind of thing."

Casey snorts. "You mean good at sweet talking nurses and therapists into giving him the easy way out."

Michael laughs softly. "Whatever works," he says.

And sitting there, surrounded by his team, Rick has to agree. "Whatever works," he repeats, because that's what matters. Now, more than ever, that's what matters.

-o-

It's another two days before Rick rallies up the courage to start defying his doctor's orders in earnest. It's hard to be alone in the hospital room, and it's clear that Michael and Casey can't keep themselves away. None of them can quite forget, after all, what it's like to believe the others dead, and Rick finds comfort in their very presence that there's still hope for them yet.

Billy's fever spikes and then finally abates. When it goes down, they wean him off the drugs and he starts to wake up. It's a slow process and Billy comes to in hazy flashes, none of which Rick would count as lucid. When he's finally extubated, he wakes up every few hours or so singing songs and reciting poetry, and they all take their turn smiling and nodding, telling him it'll be okay as he drifts back to sleep.

This has become a predictable cycle, so when Billy wakes up and looks at him - really looks at him - Rick is almost surprised.

Michael and Casey, on the other hand, seem only to expect it.

"It's about time," Casey snarks.

"You always did have your own unique sense of timing," Michael adds.

Billy looks from one to the other, brow furrowed slightly. He's still putting together the pieces and he takes a steadying breath. "You're alive?" he asks.

The words are hard to understand - twisted with the obvious dryness in Billy's throat - but it's still a question they all understand because it was the first thing they all thought about, too.

Michael scoots forward, putting a hand on the Scot's arm. "Alive and waiting on you," he says.

Billy's eyes flicker from Michael to Casey to Rick again. He blinks rapidly, as if trying to assure himself it's all real. "I thought..."

He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't have to. Rick knows what Billy thought. He remembers it. He remembers the loss and the despair, the acceptance and the acquiescence.

This time, Rick edges forward, looking at Billy intently. "I know," he says. "We were wrong."

Michael nods. "We all were."

"And it's not a mistake I expect to make again," Casey chimes.

They all look at each other.

"Any of us," Casey clarifies.

There's more to it than that. And really, Rick knows it's a foolish sort of belief; even more foolish as a promise amongst them. But still, Rick believes it. He believes it not just because he has to, but because it's really the only constant in his life that makes sense. The only thing that matters.

Because Rick hit bottom. He hit bottom and thought he'd never get back up. But he did. He did and he's here, in this room, to prove it.

More than that, they're okay. They're together. And really, for Rick, the rest is as simple as that.


End file.
